


Switched

by irislim



Category: Pride and Prejudice & Related Fandoms, Pride and Prejudice (1995), Pride and Prejudice (2005), Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: Arranged Marriage, F/M, Family, Friendship, Happily Ever After, Romance, Slow Burn, prolonged angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2018-11-08 00:31:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 48,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11070291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irislim/pseuds/irislim
Summary: In a society where arranged marriages are the only way to marry, will your true love get assigned to another? Darcy, Elizabeth, Bingley, and Jane are about to figure it out. A severely-AU Regency twist. E/D and J/B happily ever after - I promise.





	1. Chapter 1

It took many moments of deliberation before he spoke, before his singular declaration sent his friend into a marital frenzy. Darcy knew clearly, even then, that his expressed desire to marry would surely lead to Bingley's - and that their quiet evening discussions would soon be replaced by talks of ribbons and balls and gowns.

With Georgiana's recent heartbreak heavy upon his heart, however, Darcy could hardly regret the choice to at last invite a woman into his heart and home.

"I am of a thought to be paired this fall." His one line, quiet and clear, barely rose above the cackle of the fire.

Bingley's sudden wide eyes, however, indicated impeccable understanding.

"Why, that is _terrific_!" His guest and friend cried, glass landing loudly upon the table. "We can appear before the Constable together!"

Despite all anticipations with which he had armed himself, Darcy still found himself surprised. He leaned back against his chair - his most preferred in all of Pemberley. "You had resolved to be paired?"

"Often," came Bingley's quick reply. Two whole seconds passed before the man had the decency to turn shy. "Caroline had urged me to wait - to not meet the matchmakers before my wise friend does."

"And to leave her the mistress of Brigham Park until then," Darcy quickly observed.

The thought, so plain to Darcy, seemed to take his friend by surprise.

"You believe her acting with selfish intent?" The disbelief was half parts innocence and half parts sadness.

Darcy frowned. "Perhaps."

"Right."

The two friends fell silent, both men relishing many a private thought. It was not until the disintegrating log toppled upon itself in the fireplace that both men roused once more.

"When do we go?" Bingley asked first, face hopeful. His hands rediscovered his brandy.

Darcy offered a rare face of uncertainty. "I hurry not - though I would wish to discuss the matter in town before the next moon."

"Excellent!" Bingley recovered his enthusiasm instantaneously. "I shall prepare my settlement papers the very morrow."

"And inform your sister?" Darcy reminded.

"Yes. I believe she shall be very happy for me." Bingley's confidence was to be admired. "With Louisa oft in London, Derbyshire offers her little by way of female companionship."

"Do you regret your purchase?"

"Regret Brigham Park? Not at all!" Bingley sounded astonished. "Its proximity to Pemberley is among its charms, of course. The estate itself, however, is worth every pound of its purchase."

"I am happy to see you content, friend."

"And I look forward to seeing you so."

Bingley smiled. Darcy frowned.

"I do not believe I have ever expressed any thought of discontent," said Darcy.

"Oh, but your face declares it all!" Bingley laughed. "I have often had to persuade Caroline that your loneliness is not one that longs for her."

"Oh, God forbid - "

"Indeed. I have been a very good friend, Darce, and you owe it to my many efforts to be decidedly happy with your bride."

Darcy smiled slightly for a moment. The thought of meeting one's bride at last - of receiving a woman to Pemberley, of observing her presence in his life as he waited to make her his wife - yielded both senses of adventure and trepidation. He had always found his home comforting and grand. Would a young lady placed in these surroundings think so as well?

"I am glad you have come to your senses at last." Bingley's remarks, smilingly delivered, retrieved Darcy from his thoughts. "I had feared you were committed to be an eternal bachelor."

The friends exchanged low chuckles, both minds preoccupied with deeper thoughts and hopes.

"To friendship then - and the company it brings to life's great milestones." Darcy raised his glass.

"Yes," Bingley readily agreed, "and to its adventurous foray into the great unknown of love!'

* * *

The rumbling of the carriage heightened Bingley's excitement, though it seemed only to intensify his friend's anxiety. On any other night so fair, he was certain they would have chosen to travel horseback. Tonight, however, secrecy was of particular import.

"I cannot wait to look upon her fair countenance." Bingley sighed happily, earnestly hoping to cheer them both. "Our brides, I am sure, would shine the brightest in the entire country."

Darcy's scoffing laughter was the truest expression he'd sported all evening. "Your optimism, Bingley, knows no bounds."

Unsure if his friend meant to compliment or to jeer, Bingley frowned. "You do not wish for a beautiful bride?"

"I do," said Darcy shortly. "It would not do for a woman to be _too_ unbecoming, though I am quite certain the right amount of family jewels should beautify any lady quite adequately."

His friend's frank assessment, coupled with the sad and dark look in his eyes, made Bingley wonder silently if Darcy was meant to marry after all. Would a woman want a man so dour as her groom? He himself, at least, was determined to be happy and joyous when he at last met his bride!

"You frown as if you do not wish to meet the woman of your dreams," Bingley observed astutely.

Darcy's small smile felt ill-fitted with the darkness of night. "You fidget as if you are certain you shall meet her tonight."

The offense Bingley felt was rather legitimate. His voice rose of its own accord. "And why else are we hieing ourselves to the matchmaker's? Is it not to find true love?"

Darcy did not answer for a still, prolonged moment.

"Do you think so little of marriage, Darce?" Bingley's heart ached with disappointment.

"No," said his friend at last, eyes looking calmly out the window. "I do believe love is possible within these pairings. My parents did find themselves in quite the loving marriage."

"Then I am right!" Bingley beamed. "We shall inform the matchmakers tonight of our intentions - and they shall find the loveliest women in the land to be our wives."

" _Brides_ , Bingley - _brides,_ " Darcy reprimanded quickly. Bingley laughed. Did the slightest choice of words truly matter? Yet Darcy would have none of it. "You do not well to be so hasty, friend. The first Meeting shall not be until the first fortnight ends. A man's honor shall be duly protected by his choice of words and actions."

"Would it matter so much what we call them?" Bingley laughed again. The spell of hopeful love ran warm in his veins. "One's bride shall become one's wife soon enough."

"Not if we revoke." Darcy's inevitable prudence, while helpful, felt distinctly unromantic upon this night of promise. "Take care to think only with your brain, Bingley, lest you _complete_ before the first Meeting and shackle yourself forever."

Bingley's rolling of eyes and groaning of chest reflected the dismissal in his heart. "You, my friend, are simply far too bleak of a man. Would it matter if I _complete_ within the first fortnight when a woman is already dear to me?"

"And you are so certain this unknown maiden shall be so?"

"I would not swear by it," Bingley conceded with a sigh. "But I would not choose to ignore the possibility. If I find my heart truly attached - would it matter that we make our bodies our own before the general time?"

Darcy's loud sigh came with that hint of brotherly disappointment that Bingley had often disliked.

The next words from his friend came unexpected, "If you truly love her - then you would do well to maintain until the second Meeting, when you can confirm your vows sincerely."

The thought of waiting upon love slightly muddled Bingley's already agitated mind. He had waited so long to request for a pairing, to draft the papers for an exchange.

Was Darcy right to suggest that he wait even _after_ he found his bride?

"You advise that we wait?" Bingley asked as the lights of Lambton drew closer. "That we tarry in practicing marital rights we so clearly would own?"

"No," replied Darcy, wisdom rich upon his face. "I advise that we do not think of those rights as our own - 'til we are certain that these brides suit us well as our wives."

"We shall not touch them until the first Meeting is complete?" The thought itself still felt foreign in Bingley's mind.

"I shall not touch mine," Darcy replied. "I cannot govern your thoughts or your actions."

The buoyant anticipation that had filled Bingley's mind earlier tonight was slowly being drowned by a sea of good sense.

"And what if we like them, Darce? Would it be so ill to love them quickly? The second Meeting is not until two months away."

At that, Darcy laughed. "It is of the first that I speak. No one says that a man must wait that long."

* * *

"Welcome, good sirs! It is an honor to meet you." The lady's quick manners were simple and fair. The deep, patterned colors of her gown indicated a lady of taste, if not of great wealth. Stray threads of grey hair implied an age that her smile did not suggest. "I am Mrs. Gardiner, and I am deeply honored to serve you tonight."

Darcy found it appropriate to bow slightly at the cordial welcome, while Bingley launched into words much more flowery.

"We are incredibly blessed to have a lady so exquisite handle our affairs," Bingley avowed, smile as wide as the ocean blue. He nearly hopped into his chair while Darcy politely sat upon the other. "Your wisdom, Mrs. Gardiner, must know no bounds."

While indeed appearing to be a woman of good sense, the courtly lady had not seemed to earn such appellation yet, in Darcy's private thoughts. It was therefore fortunate that Bingley continued to talk.

"What wonderful young women you must know, Mrs. Gardiner! I trust you would not do us ill. Pray, tell, what beauties of England would you lead to our humble homes?"

Mrs. Gardiner's quiet smile earned her much higher regard in Darcy's mind than her manners or her dress.

"I dare not promise what I do not know, sir. The Constable may guide you to my table tonight - but it remains to seen if my circles suit yours," said their matchmaker kindly - and proved herself even better. The letters upon her desk, no doubt filled with descriptions of Derbyshire's finest, were each discreetly facing down. She smiled. "Mr. Darcy, Mr. Bingley - pray, tell my old soul what brides you seek."

Bingley's mouth was open quite immediately, waxing eloquent of every possible accomplishment a woman could own. His many claims regarding what made a woman eligible, however, were just as quickly reverted by his own words. No sooner would he declare musical talent an absolute prerequisite for a proper bride that he would immediately mutter its irrelevance to marital bliss.

All of his outbursts Mrs. Gardiner bore with grace, and Darcy found himself grateful when Bingley ceased at last.

"Thank you, Mr. Bingley, for your very vivid descriptions." The lady smiled. The breadth of her wooden desk separated the young men from her elusive wisdom. "Mr. Darcy, would you care to indicate your preferences?"

Darcy, much obliged, nodded his head. The tall candles about them cast long shadows between their seats. "I seek a woman of good sense and good breeding, madame. Overt beauty she need not have, though I wish for my wife to remain presentable in company. Her intelligence and wisdom - I would much wish to admire."

Mrs. Gardiner's smile, accompanied by a joyous glint in her eyes, indicated great self-satisfaction. Yet, even then, her gestures remained perfectly calm.

"I believe I know just the women for you, good sirs. I am glad you have been tasked to come to me rather than to the others."

Her remarks sparked Darcy's curiosity, and he leaned forward without thought.

"If you gentlemen would trust my objectivity - I shall be more than happy to refer my two dear nieces for your exchange. They are not of Derbyshire nor London but often visit my own home from their estate in Hertfordshire. Good sense of country meet good breeding of town in their kind manners."

The lady merely paused, but Bingley looked ready to pounce upon the contract this very minute.

"I endorse my nieces highly, sirs, with no selfishness of spirit," Mrs. Gardiner continued. "I would be happy to personally escort them to your exchange, if you wish for the pairing. That is, of course, if you do not mind sisters."

"Sisters!" Bingley flew off his chair in glee. "There is little better than what you propose, madame. Darcy and I shall be brothers in the law itself while enjoying our marriages to the very best of England."

Bingley's smile, now directed at his friend, compelled Darcy to smile himself.

"Mr. Darcy," Mrs. Gardiner asked then, "Your friend makes no secret of his approval. Do you wish for your honor to be equally engaged? I promise no protests if you choose not to maintain. Couples revoke for reasons of their own."

Faced with Mrs. Gardiner's knowing gaze and Bingley's ecstatic smile - Darcy said the words that were to alter his life permanently henceforth and forever, "Very well, so it shall be."

"Wonderful!" Bingley jumped before him and grabbed his hand in a hearty, delirious shake. "We shall be both friends _and_ family. Mrs. Gardiner, please - give Darcy the elder, for he must of course be first. I would gladly meet the younger for my bride."

* * *

The rumbling of the carriage, ecstatic for Bingley two hours prior, grew tedious for Darcy now. Their need to wait 'til nightfall had provided them with a tardy beginning for their call - and an even darker hour for their return. Bingley may glow all he wanted - the day still remained simply a matter of business. Darcy had business to do, and he did it as he should. Now that he was done, his body ached for bed.

"I can see her already, Darce," Bingley said, smile evident even in the dim carriage. "Her golden hair and her welcoming form. I shall greet winter this year a happy man. I dare say the good Lord always knows best."

Darcy's fatigue rendered his scoff rather mild. He lowered his neck further under his coat. "Mrs. Gardiner said nothing of their good looks."

"But do you not _know_ in your heart of hearts that your bride shall be beautiful in your eyes?" Bingley persisted. "You may have the elder sister - but I am certain that I shall have the kinder, softer, prettier, younger girl."

Bingley's resolve brought forth a genuine smile. "And if she is not?"

"Not?"

"Not what you picture her to be," said Darcy sagely. "If her hair were to be darker than light, her manners stronger than kind, her smile more clever than proper - would you doubt our Lord's hand?"

"No," said Bingley naturally, though he quickly fell silent afterwards.

The cluster of lights behind a row of trees indicated their fast approach upon Brigham Park. Darcy leaned his heavy head against the carriage wall behind him. "Your optimism suits you, Bingley - and I hold no ill will towards your hopes. But, still, be wary. Not all brides are meant to instantly be wives. There is reason the choice to revoke exists."

"I suppose," replied his friend.

"I have not been previously paired," Darcy admitted, "and I profess no wisdom about the matter. I do, however, know that I would only wish to confirm my vows to a woman I truly love."

The choice of words seemed to peak Bingley's interest.

"Love? Darcy - you seldom speak of feelings."

"Indeed." The carriage slowed as the horses yielded. Brigham Park's spacious courtyard welcomed their somber entourage. "I have made the choice to be paired, however - and I entrust myself to the institution."

"To find true love," said Bingley happily. He lifted himself and his many coats towards the door. "Have a good evening, Darce. I am thankful for your company."

Darcy smiled. It was true, at least, that the very unfamiliar process felt less daunting with Bingley by his side. "Thank you. I share your sentiments."

Bingley left with a cheerful wave of his hand, and Darcy was left to his private ruminations. Without Bingley's eternal idealism beside him, fear and uncertainty threatened to overtake. The wheels' uneven journey back to Pemberley perfectly reflected his uneven spirits.

He knew, of course, that he had to take a bride. His fortune needed heirs, and legitimate heirs required marriage. In addition, his contentment as a bachelor, however pure, equipped him ill to father Georgiana - and magnified each reason he needed to marry.

It was not good for man to be alone - and Darcy found the truth catching him sooner than he would have liked.

As a man of good sense - he recognized the inevitable. He would marry, ask for a bride. The exchange shall happen - and he shall have two prudent weeks to observe the woman in his home. He would have two more months to indulge in his single state while Mrs. Gardiner retrieved her nieces and - even then - another fortnight to decide his fate.

He envied Bingley, slightly, for his boundless cheer. He himself dare not be quite as optimistic.

Yet, in a small, distant corner in his heart - Darcy allowed himself to hope. Perhaps Miss Bennet shall be a wonderful bride, perhaps a wonderful sister.

Perhaps he may indeed find true love after all.

* * *

"I can't claim to understand the practice, surely. A day and a half, of good road nonetheless, simply to meet the men for a fortnight? The thought is ludicrous," Elizabeth complained, the back of her head dropping repeatedly against their humble, rattling carriage. Mama had nearly fainted with joy when Aunt Gardiner had pronounced her intent. A simple visit to Derbyshire had magically turned to two lifelong pairings - at least, as Mama would have it. Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "We, the brides, do not even have the right to _meet_ our men, and yet we are tasked to cross the whole country for the exchange. We are blessed to have our dear, discerning aunt as our matchmaker - but that fact cannot ensure that the men do not present themselves inaccurately. What if scars were to be _below_ the neck rather than above it? What if anger is carefully repressed for the duration of the request?"

"Your imagination, Lizzy, would be the death of me yet." Aunt Gardiner laughed, handsome eyes bright on her youthful face. "I assure you that Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley are everything admirable."

"Aunt Gardiner would not have it any other way," added Jane, looking ever angelic. The new blue gown heightened the serene azure of her eyes. "I am quite certain we shall like our grooms."

" _Like_ them, perhaps we shall," Elizabeth replied. Her eyes wandered towards the shifting views outside the shaking window. The trip, regardless of intent, was thrilling indeed. "We cannot, however, be certain that we would _love_ them. One comes across one's life partner entirely too randomly to safeguard such affection."

"Our pairings are not by chance, Lizzy," Jane rebuked softly. "If Aunt Gardiner vouches for these men, then I am sure they are everything that is good and upright."

"But she has only met them _once_. Anyone can establish great impressions if he commits himself to do so. This Mr. Darcy - "

"Is as wealthy as he is wise," Aunt Gardiner finished with a smile. "The odds are favorable, Lizzy, for you and Jane, as well as your mother, to find contentment in these arrangements."

Elizabeth, unable to argue her aunt's good sense, sighed instead. "I do not doubt that these gentlemen are honorable. You would not beckon us here if they were not."

The matchmaker nodded sagely.

"But Aunt Gardiner." Elizabeth reached for the older woman's hands and gripped them tightly. "Do you not hope for more for your nieces? Could we not at least _meet_ them, _see_ them, before the exchange?"

"The practice protects you, Elizabeth, and there is no cause for alarm," Aunt Gardiner assured with a pat on Elizabeth's hands. "If your groom were to be disrespectful of your wishes before the first Meeting, I pray you - flee to Lambton immediately. I shall bar the door myself."

The reminder that she had every right to revoke the pairing as her groom comforted Elizabeth slightly. There was, at least, no reason to resign herself to this pairing for life so instantly. Two weeks were short - but sufficient - to know a man's character. She could seek another pairing unscathed if her first one did not result in confirmation.

"You worry of love, Elizabeth, when you have no reason to fret." Aunt Gardiner's tones were wise and soothing. "No profession of love is remotely expected until the second Meeting."

"The confirmation," Elizabeth muttered, knowing the system far too well from Mama's ceaseless repetitions. Oh how their mother would exclaim that her daughters would all have their pairings revoked! It was as if she believed her own children unable to maintain a man's love. "If a couple chooses to maintain at the first Meeting - they shall confirm their vows another six weeks hence."

"You know almost as well as I." Aunt Gardiner smiled. "I dare say you shall make quite the matchmaker."

The statement led Elizabeth's thoughts back to the hilarity of it all, and she laughed quite loudly in the carriage. "See, is not the practice nonsensical? How are we to serve sufficiently as matchmakers with only a year after our own exchanges? One could hardly understand marriage after so short a time."

The twinkle in their aunt's eyes was difficult to miss. "Perhaps we can discuss the matter _after_ your first year."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my most ambitious universe alteration by far, and I am quite nervous about it. I'm not sure if the matchmaking system is outlined clearly enough. Please don't be nervous. The canon couples will find each other eventually - after plenty of angst, of course ;) Please let me know your thoughts!


	2. Chapter 2

The abundance of candles, surely intended to induce more romance than fear, brought uncanny warmth upon the room - and Darcy shifted his cravat for the third time tonight. He adjusted his feet warily, shuffling his weight from one foot to another. The ability to revoke upon the first Meeting may permit many men to undergo multiple exchanges. For him, however, this initial exchange was particularly unnerving.

Darcy cleared his throat, the tension reverberating throughout his chest.

"I am ever so thrilled to meet them," Bingley said a mere ten paces away.

Darcy grunted his assent.

His rare jealousy over Bingley's genial assurance railed especially hard in his heart tonight. Tonight, his life would change - dramatically so.

"Gentlemen!" Mrs. Gardiner's appearance directed their attentions to the present. Her embroidered dress shimmered in the candlelight. "My nieces are ready, and I hope you find yourselves equally so."

Both men nodded solemnly, and she duly continued, "Please - direct yourselves to your partners wholeheartedly, observe and care. May your hearts and persons be open and honest to the discovery of how your fates entwine."

Darcy, throat tight, bowed gravely. Bingley mirrored his actions, though with a smile much wider.

Mrs. Gardiner smiled. "It is my duty, good sirs, to stress your rights. Every individual in the exchange, regardless of gender, may choose to revoke the pairing upon the first Meeting. The alternative to revoke or to maintain remains the sole right of every couple for the first fortnight - unless, of course, they have  _completed_."

Her sharp, knowing look seemed to unsettle Bingley, and the man bowed shyly with a blush on his face. Darcy, certain in his vow to remain chaste until the choice is made, remained standing firm and strong.

"Now, please, assume your places." Mrs. Gardiner directed smoothly. The men located themselves before their respective officiants. "Your brides shall appear shortly."

Despite every wish and profession to be the contrary, Darcy found himself inhaling deep, powerful breaths to soothe his quickening heart. What, indeed, would be the lady's appearance? How would she conduct herself before others, before him, before Georgiana? The knowledge that this pairing was one of common societal expectation did little to calm his apprehension. Was Miss Bennet cheerful, glum, or witty? Was she -

"Mr. Darcy - my niece," Mrs. Gardiner presented, her right hand guiding a dark-haired young lady - eyes brightened by the white flowers in her hair - towards him, "Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Mr. Bingley, your bride - Miss Jane."

Darcy inhaled.

The challenge and disquiet in the beautiful eyes before him, barely concealed, rushed straight into his heart. Her smile, lifted by her own deep breaths, beckoned one of his own. Beside him, he heard muffled noises that must be variations of Bingley's anticipated exultations over his bride. He did not even spare a glance at whoever that object may be.

"Miss Bennet." Darcy bowed - before lifting his bride's hand to his lips. His kiss was brief, and the gentlemanly action seemed to bring her assurance, as her shoulders relaxed thereafter. "I am Fitzwilliam Darcy of Derbyshire - your groom."

The thought that Mrs. Gardiner was to be the one to do the introductions did not seem to occur to Darcy at all. He was fascinated - roused for a grand adventure. The reality of this woman before him drew him from the darkness of chosen solitude and thrusted him entirely into the promised brightness of married life. Miss Bennet's clever gaze yielded hope, at least, that she thought of this exchange to be as daunting and exciting as he himself did.

"Mr. Darcy, Miss Bennet," the officiant began - and the simple ceremony was soon on its way.

Darcy, for the first time in his quick, observant life - remembered nothing.

* * *

Her cold hands felt poignant tonight. Despite her many assurances to her sister throughout their journey to Derbyshire, Jane's own anxiety had risen steeply with every passing hour today. She took care to hide the fact, of course. It would not do to fan Elizabeth's flames. A young woman so discontent with the practice before even meeting her groom ought not to be encouraged to rally more!

"Miss Bennet - er - Jane," the man beside her fumbled, eyes bright. Jane looked up at her groom. While the timid lamps illumined their carriage somewhat, the gentle rocking ensured that she only caught small glimpses of her smiling husband-to-be.

"Sir." She smiled. At the very least, her groom seemed handsome and kind. She had much to be grateful for!

"I am delighted to show you our home," Mr. Bingley said as he used his warm hands to press against her own frigid ones. He gasped, perhaps surprised. "Your hands, milady! You must be freezing! Derbyshire evenings are cool. I - I had not thought to bring ladies' gloves. I - oh, please, I am a fool - how did I - "

"Sir!" Jane clasped his hands back, amused and cheered and comforted by his outburst. She smiled sweetly. "I have gloves aplenty, sir. It is I who lacked the foresight to keep them upon my person - rather than in my trunk. It is  _I_ who must apologize."

"Madame, please - no," he passionately cried. The crestfallen look on his face did not seem to correspond to the inconsequential mistake. "I - I do wish to be of good service to you. I cannot bear the thought that I have already failed."

"Sir, you have not," Jane quickly assured. She thoughtlessly brought his hands closer. "You have been everything but kind and gentlemanly."

The blush on his face was extremely becoming, and Jane rejoiced in realizing that she had been paired with a man of kindness and sensitivity - unlike her own sarcastic father.

"Mr. Bingley - "

"Charles, please - call me Charles." He looked up, face quivering in a hopeful half-smile.

"Charles." She smiled. Her heart warmed her body with its rising flutters.

She had worried, slightly, if she would find her groom brusque or unkind. She knew that a man ought not to be measured by his outward charm - and she had vowed to like her groom regardless of his manners. But yet, of course, her girlish heart had hoped for a man  _both_  gallant and handsome - despite the odds against it. One ought to be thankful for a man who held  _one_ of those descriptions, often enough.

"Jane," her groom whispered her name with reverence.

She met his eyes, heart overflowing. Heaven was kind indeed to give her a man with  _both_  such wonderful attributes!

"Charles," she whispered back, nerves awakening despite the late hour.

"I hope you love our home," said he, as the footmen urged the horses to slow.

"I believe I shall." She smiled, grateful beyond words. Indeed  _any_ home would be wonderful if she shared it with such a man.

"Brigham Park shall have its mistress at last!" Charles exclaimed - before he moved to assist her down.

Her hands, Jane found, had warmed themselves already.

* * *

He had tried not to smile - not to yield false hope in his precarious situation. It would not do to have his bride overly committed, after all, if he himself was content to merely observe.

He had escorted her through every room of import upon arrival. He wishes for her to adapt quickly - that he may watch her thoroughly. Her eyes had glistened at every tale he related, at every turn they took amidst the meandering halls. He wondered, momentarily, if she was a fortune-hunter at heart. Her sharp vision did seem unusually decisive in cataloguing his home.

 _Our_  home - he had to remind himself.

"You tour most efficiently, sir," she said with a smile when they turned the final corner of her tour.

He slowed as he glanced down at the curious face that topped her her short but sturdy frame. Again, he repressed his smile. "I wish for no misunderstanding. Pemberley, and all its possessions, shall be your home for the impending fortnight, after all. It is only proper that - "

Darcy stopped altogether as the meaning of his own words became apparently. He turned quickly to face her. "I apologize, Miss Bennet, for my words. I had not meant, of course, that this - er,  _agreement_  would be destined to be thus short-lived."

He looked tentatively towards her face, expecting reprimand - or worse, insult.

He was heartened by the amusement he found instead.

" _Mr. Darcy,_ " she stressed the formal address teasingly. He could no longer resist his smile. "I am by no means blinded, sir, to the wisdom of our system. I appreciate your consideration, most truly. I believe we shall get along quite capitally - for the weeks to come."

The subtle smile grew wider on his face, and he remembered once again how intriguing his bride was in truth.

"I hope you enjoyed your tour, Elizabeth."

She smiled widely in return, and his heart replied with a fitful lurch that he immediately tried to repress - mostly in vain.

"It is hard not to enjoy such personal stories - particularly of a place you love so well," she said kindly - and he could not help notice that she mentioned nothing of Pemberley's material worth.

"Fitzwilliam!"

Darcy turned sharply at the unmistakable voice. Why was  _she_  awake and about?

Georgiana left him no time to ponder as she made quick work of the hallway and very soon planted herself before the newlywed couple. She curtsied gracefully before Elizabeth. "Welcome to our home, madame."

That his sister would venture out from her recent desolation to greet their new addition comforted Darcy to no end.

"Allow me, please," he spoke with deep emotion. His hands flew one each upon the shoulders of the two ladies. "Elizabeth, this is Georgiana - my -  _our_  sister. Georgiana, Elizabeth - my bride."

The women seemed to instantly draw towards each other, leaving Darcy's hands to fall back to his sides.

"It is wonderful to make your acquaintance, Miss Darcy."

"Thank you for joining our family," whispered Georgiana faintly.

So rare it was to hear his sister speak voluntarily that Darcy had not the heart to correct her. Perhaps, when Elizabeth rested, he would separately warn Georgiana of the dangers of raised expectations.

"Do you stay here?" Elizabeth's voice was everything warm. Darcy found his bride alluding to the nearby door.

"No, I do not," Georgiana replied before he could, and Darcy found with some embarrassment that the question had not been directed at him, after all. It was a blessing that he stood  _behind_  Elizabeth at the moment. "This is - these - "

Georgiana giggled softly before she continued, "These are  _your_ rooms, Elizabeth. I merely waited here to meet you. Please - forgive my impertinence."

"Oh I shall definitely forgive." Elizabeth laughed. Darcy watched the ladies' exchange, fascinated. "You shall find, my dear near-sister, that I am the embodiment of impertinence itself. Your brother shall regret me soon enough, I'm sure."

While Darcy promptly recognized her mischievous tones, it seemed that Georgiana had not - and the young girl eyes were filled with instant tears.

"I - oh, please - do not, I did not - " Elizabeth rushed to ameliorate.

"Georgiana." He reached for his sister, nearly pulling her into his arms. He decided against such deep displays before their new family - and maintained a comforting distance. "Please - Elizabeth teases. I have no cause to regret."

His words soothed his sister, and her threatened sobs were subdued into two sniffs instead. "Thank you, Fitzwilliam."

He nodded just as Elizabeth spoke, "Please forgive me, Miss Darcy, I truly only spoke in jest. I did not think - "

"It is fine," Georgiana assured softly, and Darcy rejoiced that petitioning a pairing had indeed been a sound choice. The young girl smiled. "I would dearly love to hear you tease some more. But, please - call me Georgiana."

Darcy noticed two seconds late that Elizabeth was looking at him, eyes wordlessly seeking permission. He nodded quickly.

"Very well, Georgiana." Elizabeth smiled warmly as she squeezed the former's hands. "I shall see you tomorrow. We shall have a wonderful breakfast, I'd like to hope."

"Yes - please." Georgiana's smile grew, and so did Darcy's.

"Now, off to bed you go, my dear." He pressed a kiss to Georgiana's forehead. "Your sister and I shall meet you again soon enough."

Georgiana's submissive bow resulted in a sweet and simple parting - and Darcy suddenly found himself all alone again with his blushing - no, flushing - bride.

"Madame?" He asked first.

"Please forgive me, sir, if I had spoken beyond what is proper." Her smile was subdued, slightly more tense than it had been the moment previous. "I - I wished only to make your sister feel at ease."

Darcy could barely prevent himself from gushing every word upon his mind, to begin describing every moment of worry and pain and helplessness - and how they seem almost to be magically absolved by the woman before him.

But tonight was not the night for that.

"Thank you, Elizabeth, for extending your friendship." He kept his voice solemn.

Elizabeth frowned slightly for a handful of seconds, perhaps thinking, before she smiled again. "Thank  _you_ , sir, for accepting an unusual bride."

Darcy found his smile both growing and tightening. No, this would not do.

He would observe her with much better clarity in the light of day - not nearly flirting outside their bedroom door tonight.

He sighed and bowed. "Come, let me escort you. Your maid shall be waiting in your room. My valet shall ensure I retire soon as well. I shall see you tomorrow, madame."

He thought he could see her look almost  _relieved_  when he parted ways with a simple kiss on her hand. But, tonight, he shall not think on it much longer.

The resolution, of course, only resulted in the thoughts chasing him into his dreams.

* * *

Sundays were generally a favorite for him. The ladies and their pretty gowns, the men with their finest coats, and the serenity of morning church had never failed to offer a most delightful repose. Just as his parents had wished, Bingley had purchased Brigham Park quite soon after Cambridge and became landed gentry. The fact was not to say, however, that he enjoyed being a gentleman farmer quite as much.

Sundays and their promised social gatherings, therefore, were particularly welcome.

"Good day, madame." Jane's smiling and curtsying form beside him reminded him of the many villagers glancing their way. It was, after all, but natural for them to be curious about the sister brides from Hertfordshire. Bingley flew to his wife - er, bride's - aid.

He bowed deeply to the next few parties, everything courteous. "Mrs. Gregory, Mrs. Lane."

Jane, ever perfect, followed his lead with every greeting.

Bingley had never been a man given to pride. Today, he felt illustriously accomplished.

"Mr. Bingley - Mrs. Bingley." He turned at the greeting - and smiled widely before urging his dear Jane to turn as well.

"Mr. and Mrs. Darcy!" Bingley cried happily as he drew closer, Jane on his arm. He may not have recognized Mrs. Darcy's voice, but he surely would not mistake Darcy's fancy church coat. "How fare you this fair morning?"

Mrs. Darcy smiled and bowed accordingly, though her expression leaned closer towards a smirk. "You dress my sister well, sir."

Bingley took two seconds to absorb the comment.

He looked kindly upon Jane's figure. Of course, had he not insisted that she wear the blue dress that he had purchased the week before, rather than a selection from her own trousseau?

"Lizzy, you make it difficult to maintain my modesty," Jane said towards her sister - before the two women exchanged glowing smiles.

"Jane!" Mrs. Darcy flaunted decorum once more when she gathered her sister into a hug. The younger Jane seemed, at least, to welcome the outburst. Bingley spared a look at Darcy, the man he could most count upon to disapprove of such public displays.

Surprisingly, Darcy merely smiled.

"Come, Elizabeth, we may need to hurry lest our entrance be grander than we intend," Darcy spoke with a teasing lilt towards his bride as he tugged on her arm. Bingley dutifully restored a glowing Jane to his side. Both sisters smiled in silent knowledge of what must have been a quick exchange of whispered feminine secrets.

Bingley smiled too. It seemed that this Sunday was destined to become the most cheerful of them all!

"Charles," Jane's sweet voice said beside him. He leaned closer. "May I - may I walk with Elizabeth?"

A slight pang of disappointment indicated just how much he had been wishing to march into church this morning with the fairest bride of all upon his arm. The selfish intent involved in such a wish, however, quickly sobered him.

"Of course," Bingley granted, pleased with this morning of mornings. He may have yet to kiss his bride - but he was already the proudest of husbands. He longed for the first fortnight to end, that he may claim her as his own at last.

Jane thanked him with a smile that would suit the most elegant of princesses and quickly joined arms with her sister. Behind them, Darcy and Bingley walked together.

"You seem happy," Darcy spoke first as their steps fell upon the stoney path. With Miss Darcy escorted by her companion, the older male Darcy seemed to have released himself from the role of grave, overseeing brother.

"As do you," Bingley remarked - and Darcy seemed to start. Bingley frowned. "Are you not pleased with your bride? She seems lively enough."

Darcy chuckled. "Lively indeed. She is everything Georgiana needs."

Bingley noticed that his friend did not speak of himself. Perhaps it was improper for gentlemen to gush?

"And your Miss Bennet?" Darcy inquired in turn.

Bingley could not help smiling again. "She is everything lovely. Caroline herself had to agree. She accused Jane yesterday of misplacing her brooch - and Jane devoted herself entirely to searching for it until we uncovered its place beneath Caroline's bed."

Darcy nodded with understanding.

"Mrs. Gardiner chose well," Darcy said before they reached the parish door at last.

"Very much." Bingley smiled.

The ladies had stopped before the door, separating to wait for their respective grooms. Bingley beamed. A better bride he could not ever find!

* * *

Elizabeth began her Sunday afternoon seated in perfect posture upon the chaise, much like her new sister's pose. A few moments of observing Mr. Darcy's relaxed reclining on his chair, however, quickly assured her that she may un-stiffen herself as well.

"The morning was amenable to your tastes, I hope," Mr. Da - Fitzwilliam asked kindly. Elizabeth smiled up from the book she had brought. She was ever armed with one.

"I am of a mind to think that church aims not to please  _my_ tastes, sir." She reveled in every new attempt to jest. Perhaps marriage need not be as stuffy and serious as Mama had always led her to believe. "Regardless of how much the villagers may raise their pitchforks, their opinion, alas, matters as little as mine."

The smile that grew gradually on Fitzwilliam's face brought her great satisfaction. The Lord has blessed her indeed! For Papa, he was a scholar; for Mama, he's as rich as a king.

As for her - he was, after all, truly handsome as anything.

"Elizabeth," Georgiana's small voice, a constant presence in Elizabeth's life for the past week, drew her attention towards the delicate, white-clad figure, "your Sunday gown looks wonderful."

"Thank you." Elizabeth felt her chest warming. The posh yet subtle furnishings framed her afternoon as if it were a most delightful painting. 'Sunday Rest,' the title would read. "Uncle Gardiner procures the most lovely fabrics."

"Your uncle purchases fabric?" Georgiana asked innocently. Elizabeth quickly turned to Darcy, surprised at the quick turn of conversation towards her relatives in trade. Her mother was right enough in her description that Elizabeth always spoke a word too many!

Fitzwilliam, admirably, only smiled in encouragement. The warmth in her heart grew quickly into a fire.

"Elizabeth?"

"Right, yes." The new Mrs. Darcy restored her focus to her female companion. Elizabeth smiled. "Please - call me Lizzy."

"Lizzy," attempted Georgiana shyly.

"Thank you." Elizabeth smiled as she placed a hand over Georgiana's. "My Uncle Gardiner is a very successful tradesman. His imports are constantly setting the tone for London's fashions."

"You must find his products most helpful." Georgiana's voice grew stronger, as did her smile. "Your tastes cannot help but be refined by his aid."

At that - Elizabeth laughed. "I dare not claim high fashion for myself, I'm afraid. Jane - my sister - is always dressed impeccably. I, however, am constantly preferring comfort over vanity - to my mother's eternal frustration."

Elizabeth's fervent description seemed to take Georgiana aback, as the young girl watched wide-eyed.

The latter's brother, thankfully, came to her deliverance.

"I would not fault your good sense, Elizabeth," Fitzwilliam spoke fondly by the fire. His smile was handsome, disconcertingly so. "Comfort is often undervalued by young women today."

The fire in her chest raged inhibited. Her very fingers felt alive, and she quickly removed her hand from Georgiana's lest the young girl felt the fire.

"Elizabeth," her groom coaxed when she found herself distracted.

She smiled brightly at him. "Lizzy. I mean, please - call me Lizzy."

"As your family does," came his response.

"Yes." Her heart tightened on of its own accord. "As my family."

For one wordless moment, everything in the room faded as if they were light strokes of a child's paintbrush. Georgiana herself blurred into a glistening reflection. On this day, at this very moment - the only person she saw was her groom.

Was this feeling of ethereal floating what Aunt Gardiner hinted was to come?

"Lizzy," Darcy called gently. He had straightened himself in his seat, no longer reclining.

Elizabeth wrestled her heart back to Earth. A stray thought assaulted her, and she could not help but wonder.

Was completing a marriage before the first Meeting truly as unwise as it seemed?

The entrance of servants and tea interrupted her musings, and their quiet family of three resumed their companionable rest. Supper came and went in similar comfort, though Elizabeth found food particularly uninteresting.

She had been paired for little less than a week - but her heart was already in danger.

"Madame," Fitzwilliam greeted her, when they stood within their sitting room before bed that night, strangely formal.

"Sir," she replied, curtsy in tow.

"I wish you - good rest," he said gallantly. She prayed the tension in her nerves did not display themselves upon her face.

"As to you - sir." She had called him by his Christian name before - but his reverence tonight seemed not to lend itself to such casual words.

Fitzwilliam stood silent for a good ten seconds - before he bowed. Instead of reaching for her hand, as she thought he would, however, he ended his bow with a powerful step forward.

"Goodnight, Elizabeth." He pressed a warm kiss on her brow. Her every limb longed to draw him near.

He pulled away slowly.

"Goodnight, Fitzwilliam."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for everyone who waited patiently for this update! It is one of the longest chapters in the whole story and really took a while to write and polish. I know the brides' identities isn't as expected, which is part of the big twist coming up. I just hope you'll be willing to join along for the (very) bumpy ride. If you like any part of this at all, I hope you leave a comment! Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

His heart beat wildly in his chest as he finally departed his room. Though wearing the coolest colors his valet could find, he found his whole body still recklessly warm. His pulse throbbed as if he were running for his life.

He looked up carefully when he entered their joint sitting room. Elizabeth did not tarry often in one place - but the past two weeks had proven this sitting room at least one among her favored haunts. If he were to meet her now, then he was determined to be suave as he could be.

The empty sitting room greeted his disappointed eyes, and Darcy let out the breath he had been holding. While the first week in his bride's company had mostly brought relief, the second had awakened things within him that he would rather not name - not, at least, in front of Georgiana.

The sound of rustling skirts drew his mind towards the hallway door. His mind, filled with possibilities, had refused him rest last night until the stars had begun to sleep. His late rising this morning was natural - and unfortunate.

Begrudgingly reconciled to the fact that he was not to see Elizabeth's smile commencing his day, he walked decisively towards the door. He hoped, at least, that she would still be at breakfast.

"Oh!" A flash of rose fabric and chestnut hair slid across him in the hall - accompanied by a feminine giggle. He turned, eyes wide, towards the source of the action.

Elizabeth, curls unraveled all around her flushed face, breathed heavily and smiled. She pressed her hands together right at her waist as she continued to pant, and smile.

"I apologize, sir." She did not seem the least apologetic. Her eyes shone brighter than yesterday's stars. "I - Georgiana is looking for me, and I - "

"Lizzy!" His sister's voice emerged as if summoned. Its echo up the staircase indicated her imminent approach.

Darcy glanced at his bride, who was suddenly quiet. Eyes eloquent and lips silent, she slid wordlessly into the sunken area of the wall. Betwixt the dark wood and bright flowers, her subtle rose shades disappeared completely. Darcy watched - captivated.

"Lizzy?" Georgiana drew closer still.

"Fitzwilliam," Elizabeth reclaimed his gaze. Her joyous countenance matched little with his own anxiety. Had she forgotten that they stood on the very threshold of their first Meeting?

"Fitzwilliam, come." Her voice mesmerized him far more than any trace of classic beauty could have done. He looked at her obediently. She waved him towards her, and he acquiesced. The realization that to join her was to be pressed in a very tight space between the console, the wall, and  _her_  came five seconds too late.

"Georgiana was melancholy and needed - a game. Sardines was the first that came to mind," she explained under her breath. Darcy found his breeches tightening. May Heaven spare him from her discovery! He nodded mutely. She continued, "I know it is entirely silly. I am sorry if we seem to make sport of Pemberley. Sardines is hardly a game to play with merely two persons."

"It is no trouble," he managed to mumble. Her responding smile spread the tightening to his chest. He wondered if she realized their scandalous proximity.

Then, again - they were married, were they not?

Darcy found himself eyeing her supple lips, not daring to glance lower at a bosom delightfully heaving. Her sudden silence seemed to indicate her own epiphany.

He shifted towards her. She did not move.

The sensation of her face aligned so perfectly with his - her chest to his chest, her waist to his hips, their breaths mingling as one - rendered every other element in the entire universe moot. If he had thought her singularly alluring at the drawing room the past Sunday, he found her utterly irresistible now.

Would one kiss truly hurt?

His right hand found the wall behind and beside her hair as he drew closer. He felt her lifting her face reciprocally. The haze of young love addled his mind and crippled it entirely. His soul, informed of her wisdom and intelligence and spirit, overpowered his thoughts and pushed him nearer still.

His lips hovered mere inches from hers when he -

"Fitzwilliam! Have you seen - oh, Lizzy!"

Darcy stepped back into the hallways as soon as the first word struck. It would  _never_ do to have his young sister catch him in a manner so unseemly.

When Elizabeth glanced teasingly at him, while assuring Georgiana of her victory, however - Darcy was glad they had their secret to share.

Entirely unprompted, Darcy smiled.

Tonight - tonight shall be his night.

Tonight, he would make Elizabeth his wife.

* * *

The rumbling carriage mirrored the one from months past quite similarly. It replicated almost the exact route, the same servants, and an only slightly darker view of the night. Tonight, however, he had the beautiful Jane in place of Darcy in his company - and Bingley simply could not be happier.

"You look beautiful this evening," he spoke freely in the privacy of their carriage. After his urge to outfit her with his personal choices had subsided at the conclusion of their first week together, he had grown to admire even more Jane's gentle tastes in fashion. She did not favor ostentatious colors and styles as Caroline did - but rather glowed demurely in her delicately embroidered gowns.

"Thank you. You look fine yourself, sir." Jane, too perfect to disappoint, smiled sweetly at him in the dim light. Each glimpse of her angelic face tingled his every nerve. Oh why had he been foolish enough to promise abstinence before tonight? Every touch with her the past fortnight had been sweet torture in full - whether the feeling was as simple as a hand on his arm or a brush of her shoulder.

How was a man expected to withhold from embracing such a kind and gorgeous woman?

Bingley frowned slightly at the recollection of Caroline's words that morning. Was his sister's insult based at all upon truth? Caroline's stinging mannerisms had made clear that she would rather her brother be unhappy as long as she herself was - and Bingley had wondered if it was indeed possible that untimely courses could impede his completion with Jane tonight.

He glanced at his glowing bride - and decided Caroline's threats must have been entirely empty.

"Are you - fretting?" Jane asked gingerly as their carriage tumbled towards town. Bingley's heart warmed at the concern.

"I freely admit that nerves are not exclusive to the fairer sex." Bingley smiled brightly.

He reached across the center, grasping her hands. Then, unsatisfied with merely touching her gloves, he boldly removed himself to sit beside her. She shuffled to give him room, and the narrowness of the bench was much appreciated.

"You need not worry, sir," Jane assured after two quiet minutes. Her hand in his sent warmth radiating from his palm to his shoulder. She lowered her eyes. "I shall not fuss regardless of your choice. I have always been determined to be content in every circumstance."

The true meaning of her words dawned on him - evoking surprise and dismay.

"Jane!" He grasped her hand tightly between his as he turned to face her completely. She watched him timidly, eyes watery. His own eyes stung. "Jane - dearest Jane. I shall not - I dare not - would not - "

His breath had suddenly turned heavy, barely sustaining his person. He drew her hand to his lips.

"Jane, I love you." The words flowed of their own accord. He lowered her hand, yet gripped it determinedly. "I - I could not ever  _dream_  of a life without your smile. I profess, naturally, that such violent emotions do not seem likely at the briefness of our acquaintance - but I own them, every one."

He kissed her hand again, and she gasped daintily.

"Jane, darling - " Bingley could feel the depths of his heart bubbling forth and overflowing. He had never before felt such fervor burning through his very limb, radiant and sublime. Her pursed lips beckoned his. He spend every last drop of his self-control to relinquish her hand to her own control.

Bingley swallowed, leaning back to face the darkness - rather than her. Tonight, they shall have every right to complete their marriage. Surely, he could muster sufficient patience to await the seclusion of the bedroom. A moving carriage was hardly the most suitable for their first hour of union.

In the darkness, he felt Jane brush closer against his side. "It seems, sir - that my aunt paired us well."

His smile lasted upon his face for the rest of their quick journey.

* * *

The room's many candles and colors did not frighten her as they had done the first evening - so distant that night now felt. Perched precariously on her chair beside Fitzwilliam, too tense to lean back properly, Elizabeth felt hope and joy, trepidation and thrill merging together in her heart. She was no blushing bride ignorant of what must be involved in their impending completion. Having a prolific matchmaker for an aunt had exposed her to notions most ladies her age would frown upon even considering. Aunt Gardiner's explicit instructions that fateful fortnight ago had also, of course, informed her thoroughly.

Yet, even then - she found herself completely unafraid.

"Elizabeth," Darcy whispered beside her as he grasped her hand in his. She lifted her eyes, the longing in her heart filling her lungs and its peripherals. She smiled and squeezed his fingers. "Your aunt has done well."

Her groom was not one to express himself freely of feelings, Elizabeth had observed in recent days. His simple statement, therefore, carried deep, ardent weight.

Her smile grew broader - more wistful.

"Fitzwilliam, I - " Her own voice hitched uncharacteristically. Eloquence escaped her as she lost herself in his eyes. Mere steps away, Jane and her groom seemed to be caught in a similarly fervent visual embrace.

Elizabeth could not confirm for certain. She was entirely too preoccupied otherwise.

"My apologies! My deepest, sincerest pleas for your forgiveness!" Aunt Gardiner dashed into the room, waving her arms frantically. She had abandoned her serene exterior - given in to near hysteria. She bolted first towards Jane to pull the elder Bennet into the center of the room. Her hands gripped her niece's elbows like a vice. "Jane, oh Jane - please, forgive me."

Elizabeth watched wide-eyed as her aunt left Jane to come towards  _her_.

"Elizabeth!"

The niece stood obediently. Fitzwilliam's fingers sadly slipped off hers.

"Elizabeth, oh my - oh dear!" Aunt Gardiner grabbed her shoulders - and pulled her beside Jane. Elizabeth watched their aunt's motion in a daze of pure astonishment.

Was  _this_ also part of their first Meeting?

"Gentlemen, please - you as well." Aunt Gardiner nearly tripped on her skirt when she reached for Mr. Bingley. She tugged the young man off of his seat quickly, then maneuvered him towards where the ladies stood.

To Elizabeth's further surprise, Aunt Gardiner hustled Mr. Bingley  _around_ Jane - and placed him next to  _her_.

The budding realization that something was direly, horrifically wrong begun to weave itself around her waist like a treacherous snake. Elizabeth gasped for air.

"Mr. Darcy!" The tall man was already standing when Aunt Gardiner approached him. She deposited him, perhaps to everyone's lessened surprise, beside Jane. Elizabeth struggled not to look his way.

Then a panting Aunt Gardiner, eyes wild and hands shaking, stood back until she could glance at the four young people - all standing neatly in a row.

"Thank you - for your cooperation," Aunt Gardiner muttered between pants. She frowned more harshly than Elizabeth had ever seen her do. "It seems that there has been a most appalling mistake - and I have none to blame but myself."

Elizabeth exerted great effort in compelling her breathing to remain inaudible.

"I had not realized the mistake until today - seeing you all congregated in the room," Aunt continued, barely coherent. She blinked rapidly - a hopeless contrast to Elizabeth's own still-shocked eyes. "The requests had been clear, of course, and I have none to blame but myself for confusing them."

The words brought little clarity. Elizabeth struggled to remain upright. She felt all three other individuals stiffening around her as well.

"You see, Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley had clearly agreed whom to pair with the elder - and the other with the younger. The similar last names may have confused any matchmaker; but I - as the aunt - have no defense to offer." Aunt Gardiner's voice grew calmer, while Elizabeth's nerves grew tighter with every passing revelation.

"Mr. Darcy, Mr. Bingley, Jane, Elizabeth - " Aunt's eyes grew pleading. "Pray, tell, inform me that I have not caused the irreparable. Your marriages, they - they have not been  _completed_  - have they?"

The weight of the question added itself to the force of her fears - and her lungs constricted, suffered, collapsed under the brunt pain wound so tightly around them. Elizabeth could not breathe, could not see.

A mistake, a confusion - was Aunt Gardiner truly saying that she -

"I have caused the mismatch, I am afraid," the older lady stated plainly. Elizabeth's world caved in and broke into a thousand pieces. "If you would permit, good sirs, that I restore your brides to their rightful grooms - I hope the matter can be forgiven. That possibility, again, of course, is reliant upon the fact that the unions had not been completed, that you have not chosen to - "

"No," Mr. Darcy spoke first. Elizabeth wondered if his curtness meant anger or relief. He was not her groom, he was never to be her groom. The sense of loss enveloped her, drowning her completely.

"Mr. Bingley, I hope - "

"No, madame," the man beside Elizabeth shuffled as he spoke. The topic, while clearly known, was not one genteel people tossed about publicly. Elizabeth could almost slap her aunt for her satisfied nod.

"Very well, I am glad to hear it." Aunt Gardiner did not sound glad, thought Elizabeth. "As it is the first Meeting, I shall proceed as if the pairings were maintained instead. Each gentleman shall bring his  _proper_  bride home tonight - and you shall have until the two-month mark to confirm your vows. Six weeks, I hope, shall prove sufficient to develop feelings for the lovely person beside you."

Elizabeth's eyes stung, her body shook. She could not imagine frail Jane doing any better. The words and tours and smiles and laughter - the beauteous mornings and gentle nights - everything she had come to know and love the last half month - were they truly all for naught?

Mr. Bingley's polite arm, offered stiffly to her, felt utterly repulsive.

"Miss Bennet." Behind her, she heard Darcy doing the same action to Jane - offering his arm, his home, his love -

Elizabeth cursed the day she was born.

"Aunt Gardiner." She turned to face her aunt, a small flame of hope still burning in her heart. "As the pairings have already undergone the first ordained fortnight, perhaps - perhaps it would be well to at least inquire - if the individuals involved prefer to - to maintain or to revoke. It is hardly fair to switch us merely to - "

"But you were switched from the start, Elizabeth," Aunt Gardiner looked near tears herself. "The Constable - he has agreed to keep the restored arrangement quiet. We could hardly ask for more."

"But, Aunt Gardiner! You can't possibly - "

"No," the lady spoke firmly. Elizabeth felt her hope flicker, wither, and die. "I shall not act against the Constable. Please - enjoy your evenings."

Aunt Gardiner moved to usher herself out of the room. And Elizabeth knew her heart had been thoroughly, irrevocably broken.

* * *

"Mrs. Gardiner," the voice of her beloved - so dear he had grown in the past fortnight - revived her fainting heart momentarily. If Elizabeth's suggestions as a niece had been declined, she could hope, at least, that Charles' requests as a bachelor may be entertained.

"Sir, I have little time to discuss your concerns," Aunt Gardiner sounded angry today - flustered and short-tempered.

"Would it not be - too late?" Charles asked wisely, lowering his unclaimed arm. Jane waited with bated breath, hand still anchored to her side rather than on Mr. Darcy's arm. "To shelve any discussion until the confirmation - one cannot be certain - "

"We may need the opportunity to consider whether or not to maintain," the man beside her said, both interrupting and concluding his friend's remarks. Jane wondered if Mr. Darcy had always sounded so harsh. How did Elizabeth manage these past weeks? The dark-haired man continued, face equally dark,"Mrs. Gardiner, all pairings are given the customary fortnight for observation. If we forward our - arrangements immediately past the first Meeting, how are we to know that these pairings are what we all deem desirable?"

"Oh, what nonsense," Aunt Gardiner replied. Jane watched, utterly surprised, at her level-headed aunt sounding so silly. "If you two gentlemen - and the ladies, of course - had been truly paired correctly to begin with, why then have no completions occurred? If you have already met your desired one, one can assume couples getting more, well,  _busy_  from the start."

Their aunt's frank assessment cowered Jane, frightened her. Was Aunt Gardiner right?

She turned to look at Charles, his face partly obscured by a stubborn Elizabeth's. Her sister, Jane knew, did not look happy - but it was common for Elizabeth to appear so in the face of surprise. Charles, on the other hand, looked almost - resigned.

Dare she trust her own assessment of these faces?

"Now, off you go," Aunt Gardiner gestured as she spoke, nearly pushing them all away. "I shall see you in less than two months' time. Pray, delight in your circumstance."

Elizabeth's blatant groan displayed her dissatisfaction. Charles' frown mirrored her own. Jane did not even attempt to look at the other man.

Despite the collective mixture of grief, anger, surprise, and confusion that pervaded her heart - and perhaps the hearts of the others, Aunt Gardiner marched away. The footmen she had not noticed until now walked towards their group of four and proceeded to pair each couple off as they stood. Jane found her heart splitting, tearing - being pulled away by Charles' presence.

She looked back towards her groom - yes,  _her_  groom - as she was shuffled off towards the Darcy carriage. For the first time in her young and blithesome life, Jane felt pain, despair. She did not notice Elizabeth, as she always did. Instead she noticed Charles, his eyes blank and still, as he handed his new bride into their carriage.

"Madame," she saw Charles' lips whisper, as he he assisted Elizabeth up the carriage steps. Jane did not notice when she herself was deposited inside the dark confines of another carriage as well. Then the doors closed, the footmen shouted for departure - and in the darkness of the night, shielded by the lack of light, Jane cried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the angst-fest! Ah! I hate it too. Thus ends the first act. The upcoming chapters will deal with how they fare in this new arrangement. I hope you liked this! I grew white hair writing this chapter, I think.


	4. Chapter 4

The force with which his glass hit his desk came close to breaking both. Darcy hovered indignantly over his papers. The brandy ran deep in his veins - but, still, refused to chase away the darkness.

Darcy swallowed.

Who was Mrs. Gardiner - and what right did she have to ruin his life so thoroughly? She'd refused all suggestions, turned a deaf ear to his beseeching eyes. The woman was venomous - evil and selfish. Her self-preservation conquered all good sense.

How else could she give him what he wanted, loved - only to take it so abruptly and cruelly away?

Darcy closed his eyes, his shoulders shaking. He had nearly refused to attend church yesterday. Why voluntarily expose himself to the horror of seeing Elizabeth on Bingley's arm? Why escort a bride whom he completely did not fancy and parade her as if she were his treasured possession?

When the Constable had sent his men to gather Elizabeth's things the very first morning after the first Meeting, Darcy had almost thrown them out himself.

"Fitzwilliam," Georgiana's voice - the only female voice he could stand today - called gently from the door.

Darcy was sure he looked haggard. His throat hurt as he spoke, "Yes?"

"May I - stay here?"

Darcy pulled back to stand - but only succeeded in staggering back against his chair. His left hand supported him slightly against the wooden planks. "Are you - who are - Georgiana."

His sister seemed to understand him. Her nod, at least, communicated almost as much sadness as he felt.

"She - Miss Bennet - does not accompany you?" Darcy asked sourly before lowering himself down to a seat. His emotional unrest, it seemed, had now seeped into the physical realm.

"She does," Georgiana proffered quietly. She hung her head then.

"Georgiana - "

"I'm sorry." His sister's voice betrayed her hidden tears. "I - I know I ought to love her. I just - she is so -  _quiet_. She does not speak, or play."

The playing, Darcy realized, did not only pertain to musical instruments.

His heart heavier than an unbroken anchor, he could barely speak coherently. "You - you prefer someone - livelier."

Georgiana was too good a child to agree - though her eyes stated her preferences plainly enough. Darcy could almost laugh at the absurdity. He had, in fact, for a few spare moments throughout the first fortnight, wondered if Elizabeth was fit to be Pemberley's mistress. She was lively to the point of ebullience, active to the point of masculinity. If one had been called upon to describe the perfect Mrs. Darcy - Elizabeth's vigor would hardly have come to mind.

Today, tonight, however - she was the  _only_  thing on his mind.

"I'm sorry, Fitzwilliam," Georgiana whispered. Darcy sorely wished he had the liberty to commiserate.

How had he ever survived Pemberley's hollow halls before Elizabeth had brightened them with her laughter and smile? This Miss Bennet - Jane, her sister - was proper and beautiful to a fault. Her curls never bounced, hands never waved. Her eyes never promised endless discoveries to uncover.

Darcy had barely looked at her after depositing her brusquely at the mistress's chamber the first night.

He could also not bring himself to regret his abominable manners.

"I will try," Georgiana spoke timidly before him, displaying more courage than he actually did, "I owe Miss Bennet -  _Jane_  a chance to establish our friendship."

Darcy almost scoffed at the realization that he himself intended never to entertain the thought. He could die heirless, for all he cared. Georgiana may have Pemberley.

"Elizabeth was - kind and wonderful," Georgiana continued. She seldom spoke more than a few words at a time. "I can hope her - sister - should at least - be the same."

Darcy closed his eyes and nodded, unwilling to tell her more.

How could he?

How could he tell his shaken young sister, barely a woman, that the system which had brought them Elizabeth had destroyed them with her removal? If he were to inform Georgiana of his truest thoughts, the girl might never wish to marry at all.

"Thank you, Fitzwilliam." Georgiana's voice grew softer by the second. She turned to leave.

"Georgiana."

She turned around, eyes expectant. If only he could tell her, share with her - how much he longed to march to Brigham Park this very instant and confiscate Bingley's bride. Why did he have to agree to the ludicrous notion that he - as the older man - should have been paired with the older woman? Love was hardly age-discriminate.

"No matter what happens," he said instead, tone assuring, "you shall have me."

The relief upon his sister's face made him wish he could fool himself too.

"Thank you, Fitzwilliam." Georgiana smiled, at least.

Darcy smiled and nodded - until she left his study.

Then, haggard and bereft, he collapsed against his chair. The events of the first Meeting had robbed him of his faith in Mrs. Gardiner, in the system - in humanity itself. He would never be happy without Elizabeth.

But, at the end of the day, what good would these musings do?

* * *

"Ja - " Bingley bit his tongue before it could progress further. As if the mishap the morning after the first Meeting had not been enough, his lips had continued to conspire against him until now. 'Elizabeth' and 'Jane' were hardly similar names. They did, however, represent vastly different people.

"Missing your true love again, brother mine?" Caroline was particularly venomous today, all fanning and whining. The smirk she sent her new sister's way glowed of superiority and pride.

Bingley grumbled. Breakfast, it seems, has been once more rendered unappetizing.

"Miss Bennet," he chose the name the two women shared instead. He smiled patiently across the table. "Would you care for tea?"

His frowning new bride watched him hesitantly, perhaps measuring his sincerity. Oh how he missed Jane's modesty and cheer! If he were to sit  _just_  right and view Elizabeth from the side, he could see a small shadow of Jane - perhaps the only physical similarity the sisters shared.

The indulgence was dangerous, but satisfying.

"I have enough," muttered the new Mrs. Bingley. She resumed the attacking of her fork upon her food.

Bingley sighed. He had always been a man given to feeling deeply. It was why he and Darcy were friends at all! Whenever his heart soared at the sight of a fetching woman, it was Darcy's icy prudence that brought the balance to their actions. They had always been a team - governing estates, tending to sisters, and waiting for marriage ever since the conception of their friendship at Cambridge.

At this moment, however, that friendship felt distant and strained.

Bingley sighed and excused himself. The two women glared instantly at each other, not even sparing him the peace of mind. Bingley had always known his own sister to be of the more difficult sort - but Jane, dear Jane, had seemed to take Caroline in stride.

He couldn't quite say the same of Elizabeth.

"May I join you?" Elizabeth pleaded when Bingley moved to leave the table. He looked her way, surprised. The dark circles and disorderly hair hardly recommended her. Good-humored though he was, Bingley nearly wondered why Darcy was so taken by this lady.

"You speak nonsense,  _Eliza_ ," Caroline scoffed behind her. The fanning persisted. "Women have little use in the study. We are created for much more idyllic tasks - that is, gentlewomen are. If you hadn't been born gentry, I dare say you'd be scrubbing the floor now!"

"Miss Bingley!" Elizabeth flew up and around, nearly pouncing on his sister. Bingley watched, helpless. "I understand that you have no desire to have me in your home - and I assure you the sentiments are mutual. Fate has drawn its cards, however, and I would request that we at least  _respect_  the other person."

"Respect a woman who looks the way you do?" Caroline laughed. Bingley felt the tension rising like a brewing storm. "At least your sister had the good looks to make her tolerable, idle though she was."

"Do  _not_ insult my sister!" Elizabeth lunged forward, fists barely missing the china and silverware. "Jane is the kindest soul on the planet, and I grieve that she had to bear with such a hateful sister as she entered into married life."

"I don't disagree at all!" Caroline huffed. "I pity  _her_  for having lived a life with  _you_ as a sister."

"You - "

"Caroline," Bingley said then, halting what must be beyond hateful words from Elizabeth. He swallowed as the women watched him. If his first bride had caused such ruckus in his home, then he would have become a man of much less faith in the institution. As it was, his experience Jane compelled him to at least consider. "I believe you have Miss Dartmouth coming to call later. Are we much prepared for her arrival?"

Caroline's exasperated look offered hope that she no longer wished to fight.

"I shall prepare," she said at last. Bingley sighed in relief. "Take you  _bride -_ or whatever she is. Teach her some manners."

Caroline marched out the room before Elizabeth could refute - and Bingley quickly slipped the other way out. Down the hall, around the corner, he imagined seeing wisps of golden hair and pale blue skirts. It was unfortunate that his imagination was now the only place she belonged.

* * *

_Dear Jane,_

_I write to you today from chambers that still echo with your presence. Brigham Park is lovely, and I blame you not for having enjoyed your time here._

Elizabeth paused her pen with a frown. She sighed. It was almost ludicrous for the two sisters to be writing each other, when the small distance between their estates promised more calls than letters. It was a fact, however, that her heart could not bear a visit to Pemberley, with her groom now her sister's.

She gritted her teeth, braving it on.

_I am personally acquainted with the joys of Pemberley, and I wish you the very best._

Words for her sister had never proven this difficult before. How was one to tread the line between affected sincerity and genuine distress? Elizabeth inhaled, then exhaled, deeply.

_Your (former) groom confounds me, I must admit. The man you had described as amiable and buoyant strikes me only as one who tries very hard to be so. Perhaps he, as is often the case with men, improves with time and age._

Vivid memories of Jane praising Aunt Gardiner in her letters a mere half month ago silenced any further complaints Elizabeth had towards her current husband-to-be. Jane had waxed almost poetic in all her descriptions of Mr. Bingley as her prize.

It seemed rather ungrateful to portray him as anything less.

Elizabeth racked her brains for more to share, only to have her vibrant mind yield nothing at all. She closed her eyes. Brigham Park would be the death of her yet. The servants were too slow, the structures too sprawling, and the atmosphere stifling. Caroline - she did not even dare to mention.

_If you enjoy Pemberley and the company of its masters half as much as I did - you would already be the happiest woman in Derbyshire._

There was little else Elizabeth could bring herself to say.

_Your devoted sister,  
Elizabeth_

Her letter - barely a missive - soon produced an equally short reply.

_My Dear Elizabeth,_

_I am happy to hear of you settled at Brigham Park. I also find myself content in Pemberley. Mr. Darcy is stately and noble. He is everything Papa and Mama could have asked for. Be happy with Mr. Bingley. He is a wonderful man. Be happy, as I am happy._

_Your sister and friend,  
Jane_

The simple words, most certainly meant to soothe and encourage, struck Elizabeth's heart with hurt and anger. The letter burnt, the words stung. She thanked Heavens that Caroline was not in her company - lest she pick upon the way her new sister crumpled paper.

Be happy, Jane said.

Be happy - as she was happy.

Never in her entire life had Elizabeth Bennet begrudged her Jane for her eternal contentment.

Today was the day Elizabeth broke her streak - the day she cursed the fact that she or Jane had ever been born.

Blood boiling, Elizabeth stood from her chaise and marched towards the fireplace. The library, unfrequented by the owners of Brigham Park, had become her refuge of late - and a quick toss of the letter into the flames would quite easily be overlooked. Her footsteps echoed loudly, unladylike and quick. The letter toasted her hand as if it were a glowing ember.

Her hand stayed itself voluntarily when it neared the actual fire. Pemberley's stationary stuck as if sewn into her palm. The tears in her eyes refused to spur the movement of her hands. Elizabeth sniffed.

Jane - wonderful Jane, dear Jane - could she truly be blamed for enjoying the blessing that is Pemberley?

Elizabeth's hand shivered, still halfway to the flames. She had wished Jane her best with utmost sincerity. She had truly believed her sister capable of finding great joy with a family as attentive as the Darcys. She had -

She  _thought_ she had meant every word. In fact, in her own way, she firmly did.

She merely never understood the cost at which their fruition would come.

Overcome, Elizabeth backed away from the fire. The dismaying missive lay crushed under her fingers as she dropped upon the nearest chair.

Jane deserved him - the heartless realization assaulted her then. Kind, angelic,  _perfect_  Jane deserved the perfect man.

And that man was Fitzwilliam Darcy.

Unable to resign herself to such thorough, eternal loss - unable also to rejoice for her sister without thought of selfish pain - a drowsy Elizabeth fell asleep upon the uncomfortable chair.

* * *

The gentle aria, adapted masterfully for the pianoforte, neared perfection under Miss Darcy's fingers. The lush curtains, rugs, and furnitures yielded a sense of formal serenity - a far cry from Brigham Park's airy leisure.

Jane bowed her head towards her netting, shamed by her own thoughts.

When Elizabeth's letter had arrived yesterday, laden with assurance and good wishes, she simply could did not find the heart to reply with lamentations. Mama would exclaim that only a woman committed to foolishness would prefer Brigham Park to Pemberley.

And yet, in her heart of hearts, Jane Bennet did.

"Miss Jane," Georgiana's address compelled her to look up. The slender Miss Darcy looked almost wispy beside the grand instrument. "Ought I to play more?"

Jane frowned at the question, uncomprehending. Was she to govern what the young lady said or did?

"I fail to understand you," Jane replied honestly. Her voice felt tiny beneath the expansive ceiling. Her hands clung more tightly around her tools.

"Was it not pleasing?" Miss Darcy looked stricken, forlorn. Jane felt panic rising within her.

"Yes, it was - your playing was," Jane assured quietly. "I - I simply fail to see what I ought to do."

Miss Darcy's brimming eyes indicated that her words brought little comfort - but Jane knew little else to do. Her own sisters had always been pleased to do whatever they wished, with or without affirmation. Faced with a creature as beautiful and timid as Georgiana, Jane felt almost crippled.

She had a brother, did she not? Where was the man when his sister needed him?

Ever kind, Jane disgusted herself with such selfish thoughts - and she quickly averted her eyes in shame.

Miss Darcy did not speak again before removing herself from the room. They exchanged the most minimal of excuses before parting. Seated all alone, dressed in colors more suited Brigham Park than Pemberley, Jane wound her empty hands around her waist. The air thickened itself like a boiling stew, drowning life incrementally.

"Mrs. Darcy," Mrs. Reynolds called when she did not lift her face for two full minutes. "Mrs. Darcy, are you well?"

The bubbling certainty inside Jane's heart brought her little comfort. It had taken her mere hours to become accustomed to being 'Mrs. Bingley.' It had been almost a fortnight since that fateful first Meeting - and she was still certain she would never be 'Mrs. Darcy.'

"No," she answered the housekeeper's question honestly, eyes firm on her lap.

"If you prefer for a tray to be prepared tonight, we can arrange it so."

The consideration surprised Jane, teaching her heart to hope and raising her countenance. "Truly?"

"Mr. Darcy said so himself, madame. He shall share supper with you and Miss Darcy on Sundays. The other days would be served according to your discretion." Mrs. Reynolds spoke calmly, though her eyes belied her pose.

"He does not - did he - " Jane paused to choose her words. To dine without his sober presence was a generous offer - one she would do well to accept. "Has he always preferred it so?"

Mrs. Reynolds did not speak - until she first sighed. "No, he does not. Yet the young master does as he pleases - and often with good reason."

Jane nodded quickly, anxious not to disagree. Suppers with Mr. and Miss Bingley had always been filled with good cheer and good victuals. Here at Pemberley, the soup proved to be the greatest point of interest night after night.

She could not bear the thought of declining the opportunity to avoid such awkward meals.

"Thank you, Mrs. Reynolds. I would much prefer a tray in my room," Jane requested. The older woman nodded, bowed, and departed.

Left to her solitude once more, Jane struggled in her heart to find joy in her circumstance. Shameful as it was to admit, she truly preferred Brigham Park's gardens to Pemberley's halls - the former's constant luminance over the latter's austere walls. Even Caroline, however grim, baffled her less than Georgiana's quiet moods.

Jane frowned with despair. Could she ever reply to Elizabeth's letters with utter sincerity? Could she ever be glad that Aunt Gardiner had switched them?

Angry at her grumbling stomach, she sighed as she stood. If her first fortnight of married life had arrested her soul so thoroughly, then surely it must charm the lively Elizabeth more. Her dearest sister was Mrs. Bingley, mistress of the brightest home in Derbyshire.

With that, Jane decided with tears in her eyes, she ought to content herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry again for the angst-fest! It will all be baby steps from here on. Thank you so much to everyone who has responded with so much engagement and encouragement! Your passion is what keeps writers (especially ones like me for whom this is just a hobby on top of three jobs) motivated through the tough times. If you found anything you liked about this chapter, please leave a comment!


	5. Chapter 5

Lambton, with its cobbled streets and large shop windows, hinted at the possibility of happiness. The grunting blacksmith, the groggy brewer, and the frolicking children, at least, indicated life.

Bingley scoffed, a desperate man. It was not life that he needed today; Elizabeth and Caroline had unfortunately reminded him sufficiently of his state of being today. It was not life that he longed for - but rather a peaceful iteration of it.

"Sir!" The loud cry that accompanied a swerving horse had Bingley ducking unceremoniously under a swinging wooden sign. The hooves barely missed him, and he did not remember to nod his apologies until the ride had stridden away.

Stray villagers - he almost caught a glimpse of Mrs. Gregory - looked his way with pity. The blatant recollection that the story of Brigham Park and Pemberley switching mistresses was common knowledge struck him to the core.

The people knew, the people judged. There was simply no way about it.

He had marched straight towards Lambton this morning, fiercely searching for relief - longing, for the first time in his young life, to be away from Brigham Park. One simple word from Caroline had flamed Elizabeth's temper at breakfast today - leading to loudly exchanged insults - which, in turn, led to hair-pulling and screeching and avowals of eternal damnation.

Panting, Bingley braced himself upon a rotting post.

"Mr. Bingley?"

He looked up, foolishly shocked to be recognized. His eyes catalogued the town's faces for his housekeeper, or perhaps Miss Darcy's companion. He watched the faces flowing into and out from the shop.

"Mr. Bingley?"

The voice said again, sending bullets of joy into his battered heart. He turned towards the source, towards the lane that led towards the draper's - and cast his eyes upon a slender, dainty, beautiful Jane Bennet.

"Jane," the named escaped him instantly as he moved to stand with her. Her gentle smile shone as benevolently as sunbeams in winter. "You - I - what an honor. What an honor it is to see you - madame."

His breathlessness of spirit quickly turned to one of awe. The wisps of hair she sported beneath her ribboned bonnet, the small hands she folded before her lithe body - every detail in her countenance exceeded his brightest memories. She was an angel from heaven, the most striking of them all.

"The honor is mine, sir," she whispered softly, curtsying at last.

Bingley bowed quickly, anxious to expel with formal courtesy. He stepped closer, hands itching to reach for hers. "You - you are to town."

The nonsensical substance of his words did not seem to deter either, and he stood entranced before her presence.

Jane did not smile immediately in reply. She pursed her lips, lowered her eyes as if thinking. Bingley stepped closed. "Madame, I - "

"You are to town too - sir," she said then, looking up with smile anew.

Bingley nodded mutely. His throat refused to unlock its sudden barricade.

"I - I came to visit my aunt. Uncle Gardiner had received new materials. They prove perfect for new - dresses."

For the first time since encountering Jane, Bingley noticed the maid behind her. The full hands and satchels indicated a shopping visit well done.

With a sigh, Bingley drew back. "Pardon me, madame, I mean no disturbance."

"No, please - do not say so." Her hopeful voice was music to his ears. Perhaps surprised by her own response, Jane lowered her face slightly, smiling. "It is I who chose to come to town so early."

Bingley nodded, satisfied, with a much broader smile. "It seems we both rose with the birds today. Their song must have been sweet."

Jane's smile relaxed at his words, her limbs loosened. The radiance of her beauty, despite the dark circles beneath her eyes, rendered him speechless. Her elegance and charm, her serenity and kindness - each trait she possessed burst like starlight into his heart's dark night.

She was everything he could ever have wanted - and a woman he should have kissed upon the lips much sooner than he had.

"Jane." He moved forward, determined. No one else within the world mattered then.

"Mr. Bingley, I apologize." She pulled back timidly. Bingley stopped himself, surprised. Had he truly been about to kiss her on the busiest street in town? What had she made of him?

"Jane," he muttered then. His mind refused to consider her as having any other name. "You - apologize? But, why?"

"Forgive my interruption," she replied, smile shy. "Perhaps I ought not to have called you. You appeared quite contemplative, sir."

Contemplative of  _her_  - he would have loved to admit.

Bingley stepped back, nearing a distance that propriety would have been happier to approve. He bowed slightly. "I apologize if you find our discourse unsatisfactory, madame."

"No - not at all," she answered quickly. Bingley looked up, hopeful - for what, he did not know. "I must simply acknowledge, sir, that if anything in our conversation was amiss - the fault must have been mine entirely."

"No, why would it - "

"I was awake before dawn, sir," she continued calmly. Then her smiled fell. "Mr. Darcy, he - he wakes early often and moves about the sitting room. I - I slumber not afterwards. Please, pardon any inconvenience my fickle actions may have caused."

The mention of his friend's name compelled reality to crash upon Bingley. He blinked rapidly, lungs tight. Of course, Jane was here as Mrs. Darcy. His agreement with Darcy regarding completion had no promise to last past the first Meeting. As he himself shared a suite with Elizabeth, his looming friend shared one with Jane.

There was no reason to believe her not to be Mrs. Darcy in truth.

The thought had Bingley clenching his fists, desperately hoping that he could hit Darcy then and there.

* * *

Her heavy breaths matched in indignation with her stinging eyes. Hands flailing, Elizabeth could care less how unladylike her demeanor came across. There were, thank God, no people to judge her in the woods of Brigham Park - and her dunce of a groom had been kind enough to take off towards town.

His sister, she could make no kind comment about.

"Ah," she skirted a fall with a groan. While beautiful, Derbyshire's rocky, jagged landscape was by no means comforting to her softer feet. Her short breaths seemed also to rob her of her natural balance.

Swallowing her anger at herself, Elizabeth re-mustered her ill will towards Caroline Bingley - and marched resolutely forward.

"A dirty country maid indeed," Elizabeth spat, echoing Caroline's insults. "A loose woman flying from one groom to another - a jealous  _sister_  to the best woman in the world. Ha! If I truly wished to be jealous, I would already have - "

An unexpected tumble sent her words and limbs rolling off a steep incline. The moans and groans she emitted at the bottom of her valley echoed her pain, physical and otherwise. She shoved herself upwards to a seat. A few exploring touches indicated to her that her hair was beyond rescue, though at least her dress hid her bruises.

"What a horrible, dastardly day it is!" Elizabeth whined loudly, ready to settle score with God Himself. The fact that Charles was a weakling of a man was little turmoil in comparison to her utterly  _grotesque_  sister. Where was her dear Georgiana when she needed her?

"Elizabeth!"

She looked up sharply at the call. Did the woods themselves speak?

The tall man and worried face that greeted her eyes might as well have been a tree. She at last found the heart to be ashamed of her horrid appearance.

"Fitzwilliam," she responded instinctively and moved towards her feet.

"Please, let me assist. You - you fell?" His voice hinted at true concern and compassion. His hands reached her arm.

"Quite unceremoniously," she replied with a wince. Despite her current upright stance, her foot would, by every chance, remain swollen for another three days. It was fortunate, indeed, that Mr. Darcy was present to assist. "Thank you."

"Not at all." His fingers lingered slightly even after she found her feet - sending threads of warmth towards her chest. He let go before the sensations reached her stomach.

Both parties spent time fidgeting, looking about, and sighing like very bored children at their grandmother's drawing room.

"Mr. Darcy - "

"Miss Elizabeth - "

Their coinciding words resulted in laughter - and much more relaxed smiles.

"I see you love the woods," Fitzwilliam said first, eyes twinkling.

It was overwhelming to be reminded of how truly handsome he was. Elizabeth smiled. "I have made no secret of the fact."

"Yes." He nodded, gallant as ever. His coat was tailored perfectly for his body. "I had not thought you would tire of Brigham Park's grounds so soon."

"Soon?" His words did not hold meaning - until a moment late. Elizabeth almost blushed as she herself pronounced, "I am upon Pemberley's grounds."

The master of Pemberley nodded, seemingly not minding at all. His welcome was, after a long and tiring morning, an incredible relief.

Elizabeth smiled again. "Forgive me for my trespassing, sir."

"There is little to forgive, please. You have called these grounds home as much as I have." The words flowed freely from him. He was far more loquacious than he had been at first marriage.

The pang of sadness was inevitable as Elizabeth realized how the change must, inevitably, be linked to Jane.

"How fares my - sister?" The words pained her to ask, despite a calm exterior.

His eyes frowned at her question. He stepped back - and she longed to reach for him.

"She is - fine," he quipped curtly. The eyes that had gazed into hers but a moment earlier now glared in hardened stares towards the ground.

"Mr. Darcy - " He flinched at her touch - and she quickly removed her hand. The rejection in her heart felt like a sword through her flesh. She lowered her eyes, ashamed. Married though they both be, she still felt horrendously unchaperoned. She hid her pain when she gathered her skirts and turned. "Forgive me for imposing. I truly ought not to tarry upon lands that are not - "

"Elizabeth!" His sudden, passionate call stilled her. The feeling of his hand upon her elbow lit her skin.

"Elizabeth," he said again when she would not respond - and his voice leaned heavily towards a plea.

She turned gingerly, careful not to trip upon the uneven ground once more. She lifted her eyes slower towards him. "Sir?"

"Your scratches and bruises - let us clean them. There is a lake a mere twenty paces away." The monotony of his words was usurped by the concern in his voice and eyes.

Swallowing deeply, Elizabeth nodded.

* * *

The winds' rustling of her skirt mirrored the wild beating of her heart. Every step had her drifting closer to her unexpected companion - yet also closer to the Pemberley's inevitable imposition.

"The color becomes you," Mr. Bingley said beside her. She lifted her eyes to his handsome face and basked in the comfort of his smile. "The - gown, I meant to say, of course."

Her own smile came naturally. "Thank you, sir. The blue suits you as well."

The way his smiled turned shy was everything good and lovely.

Jane felt her heart constrict at the sad realization that her current groom would never smile this way. She - and, in turn, they - fell silent for another ten paces. The carriage she had taken into Lambton had long been dispatched to return. Walking alone with a gentleman across the fields of Derbyshire was the most scandalous thing Jane Bennet had ever undertaken in her young life.

Yet, even then, she found she cared little of being found.

The guilty thought caused her to frown.

"Jane, are you well? Do I offend?" Her caring companion was quick to ask. His hand hovered dangerously close to her arm. "I - I simply speak my heart at every turn. I did not think that such honest words would - "

"No, sir - you  _never_  offend me," came her frank reply. Her eyes threatened to water at his display of concern. Why could Mr. Darcy not -

Jane bit her lip, heart oscillating between remorse and truth.

The repeated sight of a thoughtful Mr. Bingley, leaning close to watch her, compelled her to trade her frown for a smile. "You need not tread so carefully in conversation, sir. I am hardly a maiden with such heightened sensitivities."

"I apologize," he quickly said, slight bow in tow. The bright smile that returned to his face vastly warmed her chest. "I am afraid I have been accustomed to less ease and find myself having forgotten how one ought to take action when welcomed."

The sadness of his words seemed not to match with his happy countenance.

"I cannot imagine you not welcome in your own home, Mr. Bingley," Jane said softly. Her heart compelled her to ignore the constantly growing view of Pemberley's facade.

"I - I am welcome, I suppose," Mr. Bingley said sadly, sighing. His hands swung about his sides. "It is simply - difficult to be so easily credited as the source of strife."

"Credited? I - I know my sister not one to blame so hastily." Jane's honest curiosity had her not notice her allusion to his new bride - the first of the day - until after the fact.

She hung her head immediately, pained by her own carelessness. When her companion ceased his walking, she dutifully halted hers.

"Sir, I apologize heartily. I had not thought - " She found herself unable to articulate for what she apologized. The sense of guilt was clear - while the reason for it was not.

"It is not  _your_  sister that instigates the quarrels, I am afraid," Bingley spoke with heavy tones and long faces. Jane longed to soothe the creases from his brow. "Though, I must admit, she partakes of them quite readily."

"Charles - " Her hands threatened to reach for him, nearly breaking free of her volition. "Please - know."

He watched her pleadingly, a broken man.

"Your happiness is of great importance to me." She smiled sadly. "Please - make certain of its existence."

* * *

"It is not as if I choose to be ungrateful." Elizabeth's voice felt heavy, unlike the smooth rocks she sent so effortlessly across the surface of the lake. If he had not practiced so often with Fitzwilliam and Wickham as a child, he would have easily lost to her.

"The Bingleys have kindly opened their home to me, despite the  _unusual_ circumstances," she continued. Her presence beside him, with the grass as their seats, warmed him where her words could not. "It sounds horrifically petty to complain."

Her voice faded near the end - sounding everything uncertain.

"I understand." Darcy smiled sadly before lowering his head, heart suddenly heavy. When he had finished assisting Elizabeth with the cuts on her elbows, hands, and knees a mere half hour ago, he had come dangerously close to speaking his heart. Every complaint about Jane's dullness, Georgiana's boredom, and his own overwhelming frustration had lingered precariously upon the precipice of his tongue. Who better was there to understand his woes than the only other woman in Derbyshire who was acquainted with all three individuals?

"Mr. Bingley tries to be kind," Elizabeth muttered on. Her hands stayed primly folded on her lap now, pebbles absent from all around her. The vibrant spirit she had possessed when dancing about Pemberley's halls now seemed to exist only in her eyes. Had Brigham Park altered her so thoroughly? "He insists that we three break fast together each morning. I - I wait, naturally."

Darcy was no stranger to Elizabeth's early hours - hours he shared himself. It was almost infuriating to imagine her so neglected and oppressed.

He had no chance to rue his harsh thoughts before Elizabeth continued, "Of course, as I said - it seems quite ungrateful of me to complain. It is not as if they do not -  _try_."

"Try," Darcy echoed, a small scoff on his lips. He turned to look at her - at the pink cheeks, ruined hair, and eloquent eyes. The bewitching woman he remembered as his bride seemed to grow ever more bewitching by the day.

He smiled, elbows perched on his propped knees. "The attempt, surely, must be commended - even if the result cannot be."

She returned his gaze quickly, with a flash of kindred knowledge. The vigor he knew she possessed shone freely from her eyes now, threatening to overflow. It took everything he had not to draw his hand towards her cheek.

"I try - also," she mumbled hesitantly. "I - you - Brigham Park - "

She paused and swallowed visibly. He watched her, entranced.

Her cheeks grew redder when she spoke again. "Brigham Park is - different."

He nodded silently, her implications too vivid to warrant further words. The silence around them felt both burning hot and bitterly cold.

Darcy envied the birds for their harmonious songs then.

He inhaled deeply and offered a tender smile.

"Georgiana misses you," he said, eyes conveying what his words could not.

Elizabeth's eyes watered almost instantly. She blinked excessively; Darcy knew he himself did as well.

"I miss her dearly," she whispered back, smiling and blinking.

"Yes." Darcy allowed himself another smile before turning away.

Eyes on their respective laps, they sat in charged yet companionable silence.

Darcy spoke first, moments later, "Pemberley is quiet. I - I mean, Georgiana -  _we_  mourn the loss of your company."

He watched her carefully, suddenly uncertain if he had chosen his words right.

Elizabeth's mournful smile seemed to indicate that he had. "I am fairly certain the inhabitants of Brigham Park think of Jane quite the same way."

"They do?" Darcy  _almost_ felt guilty for having forgotten his new bride's existence at all for quite a while.

"Never a day goes by without Caroline reminding me that I am not worth the ground upon which Jane treads."

"But you do!" Darcy was anxious to assure - before her raised eyebrow informed him of how his words could have been misconstrued. He faltered, then scrambled: "I mean, of course, you do - you - you are worth far,  _far_  more than anything your sister could possess. You are - exquisite, intelligent, and kind. You are - "

He stopped himself short of declaring the true emotions in his heart, raging though they be in his chest. Darcy swallowed, suddenly overwhelmed by their solitude. Elizabeth reckoned him back with equal intensity, their heartbeats almost audibly intertwined.

"Fitzwilliam," she called him, voice hollow. His name on her lips drove him to madness.

"Elizabeth," his tongue barely obeyed.

She smiled at him then, melancholic. He was almost shocked to his feet when her bare fingers landed upon the hand he had dropped to the ground. His heartbeat dashed, flew.

"Thank you," she whispered softly. The clouds that passed over the sun seemed to yield to her moods.

Darcy blinked his eyes, swallowed, and nodded.

Then, unable to resist any longer, he curled his large fingers around her slender ones - and lifted them to his lips.

She, at least, smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, SO MUCH ANGST. I hope, at least, that it came across as well-written. Then, maybe, you can forgive me. Thank you for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

_Dear Jane,_

_A piece of work Caroline Bingley truly is. I am at my wits' end. How does one get along with such a shrew?_

_If you should begin to mourn the end of my sanity and propriety, dear Jane, then I heartily give you leave to do so. Her verbal attacks and childish schemes plague me day after day. Your boundless kindness might have allowed you to forbear her multitude of wrongs. I feign no such skill. Her company is most bearable only when I am not compelled to share it. It is inevitable, I suppose, that I wander the grounds more often than I do the house._

_Delightful Georgiana must suit you well. Care well for her wounded soul. I know not what Darcy has told you, but I am certain that you are in confidence of Georgiana's struggles. I wish you eternal happiness._

_Your devoted sister,  
Elizabeth_

Jane's sniff at the end of her sister's letter reflected but a trifle of the sadness in her soul. She knew not what confidence Elizabeth alluded to, and she was fairly sure her reclusive groom would never care to share it. Mr. Bingley's joyful company when she had wandered into town two days prior had illumined her day to no end, and the return to Pemberley had been drudgery itself. Georgiana and her sorrows, whatever they may be, did not make conversation with the quiet young girl any easier at all.

How could Elizabeth complain when she already had the better man and better life?

Again, Jane sniffed, plagued by her own guilty conscience. As sisters, she and Elizabeth had always shared every hope and dream. When they had been invited to be paired with two friends in Derbyshire, the rejoicing had been mutual. These marriages promised what no other pairings could - that they would still be allowed to share their lives as beloved family.

Today, at this very moment, however - Jane found herself feeling farther from her sister than they had ever been in life.

"Mrs. Darcy, your stationery." Her handmaid - or, rather, Mrs. Darcy's - appeared with the items she had been commissioned to procure.

Jane shared her thanks gracefully, unwilling to give hint of her unhappiness. It would not do for rumors to reach Brigham Park.

At the handmaid's retreat into the shadows, Jane reviewed Elizabeth's missive yet again. Her vivacious sister had made no secret of her intense dislike for Caroline, though Jane found the stately lady merely prickly. Silly, Caroline was at times; vicious, she was not.

The descriptions of Georgiana, as well as Elizabeth's ridiculous notion that Miss Darcy and Jane would 'suit,' baffled Jane quite thoroughly. While pretty as a picture, Georgiana was a woman of little else, in Jane's mind. The young girl played perfectly, studied patiently. A friend, however, she would never be.

Hesitantly, Jane dipped her pen in her ink.

_Dear Elizabeth,_

_It warms my heart to hear snippets of Brigham Park under your pen. Your luscious home and its grounds must bring you joy. I assure you that Mr. and Miss Darcy are everything kind._

Jane paused with her third sentence, at a loss for what to say. The Darcys had been kind, at the least, even if absent and aloof. While she herself found Georgiana withdrawn, she at least did not quarrel with her new sister as Elizabeth seemed to do often with Caroline.

_Pray, tolerate Caroline for the sake of her brother. Mr. Bingley is everything that is good and kind. You, Elizabeth, are a blessed woman indeed._

The confession, sincerely meant, caused Jane's eyes to sting. Deep breath in tow, she braved the rest of the letter.

_Be happy, my dear sister. For my sake, do._

_Your loving sister,  
Jane_

* * *

She did not think of where to go when she first set foot in the woods this morning. The dawn had beckoned early, yet she had tolerated the indoor rooms until all members of the Bingley household had broken their fast before breaking out into the glories of nature. Now, alone, free from the obligations of what society dictated as bridely behavior, Elizabeth found peace.

The well-sought peace filled her lungs with every breath of fresh air. The solace she had found by Pemberley's lake early this week had sustained her 'til today, providing strength where she had none.

Determined to rediscover the source of that strength - and, after all, in possession of an open invitation from Pemberley's master to visit his ground whenever she might prefer - Elizabeth instinctively marched down the now-familiar path.

Three treks down this trail in recent days had armed her with careful cognizance of each danger and curve. While she no longer tripped or fell, she still never ventured far. There had always been a reason - either a call or a meeting or a visit - that compelled her to return to Brigham Park much earlier in the day than she would have preferred.

Today, however, Elizabeth decided she had ventured out early enough, and found bravery enough, to defy their expectations and to dash towards her beloved lake.

The jagged ground could not deter her; and she soon flew happily, arms wide open, towards her irrefutable solace. The grass whispered gladly by her feet.

"Elizabeth!"

She pulled quickly to a stop and looked up abruptly. Skirts in her hands, ankles muddy, and hair wild - she knew she must look almost frightening.

"Mr - Darcy," she panted between words. His smiling glance towards the rest of her prompted her to drop the fabric in her hands as quickly as she could. She almost blushed. "I - I did not think - I had not - "

"Would you not prefer my company?" he asked, face dwindling between an expression of sincerity and sadness. "I could take my leave immediately. I believe your sister and mine to both be occupied. I could therefore slip into my study quite well all on my own. I - "

"Sir!" She reached out, almost touching him, before folding her hands to her waist. She licked her lips, feeling quite embarrassed over both their respective responses. She looked to his left, and then his right, before refocusing upon the man himself. "Fitzwilliam, the lake is  _yours_. I believe I would be counted rather barbaric for stealing it from you."

"Not if the treaty is one of peace."

"Have we signed a treaty, sir? I'd like to believe I would recall such an event if it had come to pass."

"The King himself bore witness, I believe." Darcy's voice sounded lighter by the minute. "His footmen ensured we used the golden quills."

"And ink of pure ruby waters." Elizabeth smiled, happy.

Fitzwilliam smiled back at her, dimples deep. Her heart fluttered of its own accord.

"I am happy to see you here today," he said simply. So often exposed to Caroline's barbed comments and Mr. Bingley's noncommittal mumbles of late, Elizabeth's spirit almost soared at her current companion's frankness.

"I hope I do not intrude," she replied softly.

"No - never." Darcy inhaled, stood taller. "Your presence has always only been welcome."

"Thank you." She smiled.

The world fell silent around them, save the birds' gentle songs. She wondered, for one quick moment, if anyone would be the wiser if she chose to merely stay here forever.

Brigham Park, at least, would not mourn her - nor she, it.

"Would you care to sit?" His offer interrupted her thoughts - and she quickly acquiesced.

Cheered by the clear waters, bright sun, and fragrant flowers, Elizabeth smiled. Their current poses, seated on the lake's bank a mere two feet from each other, felt almost scandalous. His sleeve brushed hers whenever he shifted. Her shoulder felt his breath skimming gently over its skin.

Heartbeat rising, Elizabeth sighed.

"Do you fare well with - Bingley?" His question, so natural on the tongue of any other villager, sounded foreign and intrusive from him. The pain his six words sent through Elizabeth's heart tore at her flesh.

"No," she found herself answering. She sighed again, eyes closed. "He is - bearable, truly. It is merely the - unceasing need to create the appearance of harmony."

"Without understanding the very essence of harmony itself," he finished for her.

Elizabeth nodded, pained. Why must the man who truly understood her be the man so cruelly taken away?

She let the silence reign for another while more before she asked, "And how fare you - with Jane?"

She turned slightly to face him, both eager and afraid to learn his thoughts. His tight-lipped countenance displayed pain of his own.

"She is - quiet," Darcy mumbled at last, eyes trained upon the ground. "We seldom - speak."

"A wordless marriage?" Elizabeth  _tried_ to sound humorous, though her humor fell flat.

"I suppose." Darcy smiled sourly.

Elizabeth wondered, for the first time since their horrific switching of places, if the Darcys' marriage were as unhappy as hers. But had Jane not assured her repeatedly of her happiness, of her contentment in Fitzwilliam's kindness? Perhaps it was merely her shyness that Darcy described.

Longing for such contentment and acceptance for herself led a stray tear down Elizabeth's face.

"Elizabeth." Darcy noticed instantly, turning to press a thumb to her cheek. She faced him, her tearful eyes to his worried ones, and felt the shivers his touch sent down her jaw, neck, and body.

Would there ever be a time when a woman would be permitted to love her sister's groom?

"I - I - I am sorry," Darcy blurted after much difficulty. His shallow breathing surprised her. His hand sprawled to cover her face, fingertips brushing against her ear. She almost could not hear him over the thudding of her own heart. "We should not - Bingley and I - "

She blinked, confused. What  _was_ he attempting to say?

At least, after much visible struggle, Darcy pulled back and tossed his head towards the sky. Eyes closed, his whole person shook. Elizabeth waited, wondered. When his shuddering would not stop, she reached her hand towards him - and stilled him by the arm.

"Fitzwilliam," she called; and he stopped.

Moments later, when she almost feared for his consciousness, he restored himself upright - and pulled her into his arms.

Shocked at the initial feeling of his arms around her, Elizabeth stiffened, eyes wide. He mumbled against her shoulder, breath hot on her neck. She forced herself to make clear what he was saying.

"We should not have - not have arranged it amongst ourselves. Should not - should not have." She untangled his words slowly. Tears sprung anew to her eyes.

Did he  _regret_  their arrangement?

"Darcy," she called gently before removing herself to arms' length. His hands stayed firmly on her elbows. Her left hand stayed upon his - while her right flew to his face. "Fitzwilliam - did you -  _you_  were the ones who chose?"

Despite Aunt Gardiner's excuses, she had always thought it had been an honest mistake - perhaps a matter of paperwork or signatures. Most pairings were done with little preparation, and it was only Aunt Gardiner's assurances that had made her to hope that this pairing could have -

Elizabeth breathed in sharply.

Were their mistaken arrangement and subsequent restoration - intended?

Did the grooms realize Aunt Gardiner's mistake and insisted that their original requests be fulfilled?

Elizabeth's hands tightened upon Darcy's limb and shoulder. Her voice tumbled out in fierce, hollow tones. "Did you - did you choose - to be restored to your requests?"

"No!" Darcy cried quickly, pulling her closer. "I - yes, it was foolish. Bingley had insisted upon the arrangement, saying whatnot about who ought to marry the elder sister. I was an utter fool to agree. How could I - how could I have chosen when I did not know? When I had not met you and your kindness, vivacity, intelligence, and charm? When my heart had not been touched and altered forever?"

The tears in her eyes now threatened to overflow. The air felt as thin as if she were atop a looming mountain.

"Please, Elizabeth - forgive me. Forgive the foolishness that has caused us both pain." His eyes seared into hers, pleading and longing.

She paused, a million emotions swirling through her body - and then, gently, nodded. He hugged her immediately, pressing her body close to his. Her hands wound tightly around him of their own accord. She buried her face in his shoulder, trying in vain to will the tears away. His face felt warm against her neck.

Mere months ago, life in Hertfordshire had been simple and carefree - filled with little worry outside of her nagging mother. Now, today, despite her adventures to new lands and places - life was miserable, a sifting bog that threatened to swallow her whole.

"Elizabeth," he murmured against her ear.

She wordlessly drew him closer. Her sniffles, perhaps, told him the rest.

Clinging so desperately to him, Elizabeth found comfort in the fact that he was gripping her as tightly as she was holding him.

How else would she explain her actions? What upright woman would -

Her mind emptied when a pang of excitement touched her cheek and flew like lightning to her every extremity. Her every nerve roused, every limb jolted wide awake. The sensation of his lips upon her cheek moved her own mouth towards one, and only one, direction.

Without a second thought, she brought her hands up to cup his face - and turned his lips directly upon hers.

The kiss was everything she had ever known, everything she had ever wanted, and everything she had ever thought impossible rolled into one, significant, heartbreaking moment. He kissed her back instantly, his hands on her waist drawing her close. Her lips opened for his, passionate yet tender. Every shift in their movement drew them ever closer in their lip-locked embrace.

Then, when his tongue found her lips, dancing by its inner edge, her whole body woke to their true condition.

They flew apart instantly, eyes and mouths wide open. They did not speak when they both stood up, hands vaguely patting their clothes to remove any dirt. They did not speak when they both swallowed, neither having caught his breath. They did not speak when they backed away - with long, lingering glances - and each fled towards their own home.

* * *

In his rare introspective moments, Bingley allowed himself to admit that he did miss Darcy's company. Brandy was better sipped together, and armchairs less lonely when a friend sat in a similar one nearby. Their weekly meetings had been suspended the first fortnight of marriage by mutual agreement. There had been, after all, such insufficient time to observe their brides as it was. Bingley believed that choice had indeed been sound.

The boundless abyss of silence between them now, however, had not been intended in the least.

Frowning all to himself, Bingley sipped his glass before sliding it back upon his desk. Drinking midday was hardly a commendable act for anyone - much less for a young man tasked with governing his own sprawling estate. He had a long and tiring list of tenants to tend to, decisions to make.

Lonely, angry, and helpless - Bingley cared little for propriety and duty at the moment.

The rest of the glass burned down his throat, and he almost launched the empty vessel across the room.

Bingley scoffed loudly when the glass rolled with a groan on to the wood from his limp and open hand. His brows leaned furiously together.

What had happened to his blissful life with Jane? Darcy had sworn than no man could fall permanently in love with a maiden, even if she were his bride, in the short span of one fortnight. He had forced promises - foolish promises, Bingley now thought - from both of them, making that enchanting period before the first Meeting all the more sweet and torturous.

Jane - in all her heavenly loveliness - had proved Darcy wrong. Her tenderness and grace had formed unbreakable bounds around Bingley's heart, shielding him from the charm of any other woman for the rest of his life. He would  _never_  love anyone as he loved Jane.

Why did the arrangement need to be restored? Did Mrs. Gardiner not realize their request had been youthfully, foolishly made - that their newfound happiness with their brides surpassed any desire to meet previous hastily-made demands?

Bingley sniffed in a manner most unmanly, satisfied that there was no one present to hear.

When Jane had first arrived at Brigham Park, her fragile, demure demeanor had already captured his heart. Nay, when she had entered his  _carriage_ , he had already been irrevocably enchanted.

Bingley closed his eyes, shaking. Perish the thought that Darcy found her equally enthralling!

His heart would not stand the knowledge that his dear, angelic Jane had been tarnished by Darcy's -

A sudden, frantic knock at his study door called him from his turmoil. Bingley stared blankly towards the entrance, mind confused.

 _Who_  would visit him now?

Another series of frantic knocks reminded him that this unknown visitor was still standing there.

Puzzled, Bingley called for him to enter - and found himself shocked still at the sight of an agitated woman when the door swung open at last.

"Elizabeth?" Bingley wondered loudly, eyes blurred from the liquid in his veins.

"Sir!" She marched over stiffly. A closer view indicated that this  _was_  indeed his new, louder, less-graceful bride. She moved her hands constantly - at her waist, then on her skirts, then pressed together. The dizzying effect made Bingley extremely nauseated. "Mr. Bingley, I - "

She did not seem to know what she wanted to say, though words were clearly upon her mind.

"Yes?" Bingley frowned.

"Mr. Bingley, I - I need - I must - " She fumbled over her words, unusually ineloquent.

Bingley could be bothered less. His hand flew dismissively towards her. "Is it Caroline again?"

She moved as if to speak, or to leave - he could not tell.

Bingley sighed loudly, bereft of patience for once. "Please, if you have any problems, do talk to her directly. I am unable to - "

"Charles!" she suddenly cried. He watched her, dazed and careless. Her face seemed almost to jump off her body.

"Miss Elizabeth, I fail to see - "

His words were torn from his body by the sudden feeling of her arms around his body. He stiffened instantly, as stiff as her torso felt above his. Despite her instigation of the embrace, it did not feel as if she wished to have done so.

"M - Miss El - izabeth?"

"I'm sorry," she mumbled - before pulling back, sniffing, and marching out the room.

Bingley watched after her, dumbfounded.

Why could not all women be as quiet, kind, and comprehensible as Jane?

* * *

Darcy's breath refused to return to its regular rhythms despite the past ten minutes he had panted, forehead against the wall. The outdoor chill did little to ease the stifling furnace that his study proved currently to be. His knuckles burned from their repeated encounters with the table. His lungs stung from anger and despair.

No sensation he had previously ever experienced had come even close to the thrill of holding Elizabeth in his arms, her lips pressed to his. Propriety, duty, and honor - unassailable rudders in his life thus far - suddenly struck him as vexatious and unnecessary. What good would a blameless life do if it could not earn him the woman he loved?

Defeated and confused, Darcy stumbled back towards his desk. The answers, as they were earlier, did not prove visible among the possessions scattered across the oaken surface. The state of his desk, it seemed, mirrored the state of his mind rather too well.

Eyes closed, Darcy dropped himself upon his chair with a sigh. Despite the guilt he invariably felt - he could not compel himself to feel remorse. During that first fateful fortnight they had shared, he had lawfully possessed every right to touch her, body and soul. And yet, in what now sounded to be absurd and selfish reasons, he had chosen to refrain.

Did the forbidden nature of forbidden fruit paint it to be far sweeter than it was - or was the charged intensity he felt throughout his body upon her kiss a natural response to having finally found his heart's destined one?

The sigh that escaped his lips came in jagged bursts. The system, age old in its wisdom, had done its fair share. What practice more impartial than the provision of allowing each person to decide his own destiny before even meeting his bride?

It was sorely unfortunate that there existed no manual on switched marriages - no advice for lonely hearts trapped in undue exchange.

Darcy, feeling more tired and worn than he had ever felt, buried his face in his hands. He regretted with all his heart that  _he_  had to be trapped with such misfortunes, that mistakes so rarely made had to happen upon his person.

He could not, however, regret kissing Elizabeth - even if that were the only kiss he would carry to his grave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is so torturous to write. The muses are cruel. I hope you enjoyed it despite the pain! Let me know your thoughts!


	7. Chapter 7

His drawn-out sigh, a harsh addition to the bustling town, perfectly reflected the turmoil and loneliness in his heart.

Elizabeth's sudden visit to his study yesterday had resulted in a long and sleepless night for Bingley, but the ceaseless hours of shuffling had eased his guilty conscience little. He had left for town at the crack of dawn, intentionally ignoring any shadows in the halls that could have belonged to his confounding bride. He did not know what he sought - where answers to his unspoken questions could be found.

He merely knew that they did not exist at Brigham Park.

If Caroline and Elizabeth chose to quarrel again that morning, he would at least be spared the firsthand accounts.

"Mr. Bingley?"

He looked up at the voice - the only voice that caused his heart to rise today. The vision that was Jane's slender form, on which her soft pink dress hung, nourished his soul despite its pale colors. He looked around slightly, only realizing belatedly that his hurried steps had led him to the Gardiners' shop without thought.

"You look - perturbed," she observed kindly when his eyes returned to her face.

Bingley wondered to himself if his distress was as clear upon his brow as her paleness appeared. He smiled gently when reaching for her hand.

"And you look unrested," he whispered before bestowing a soft kiss on her knuckles.

She blushed as he released her, and Bingley cursed the town for having people at all. Her sallow cheeks and tired eyes could not lower her in his affection, though they surely heightened her in his concern.

"I find it difficult to imagine rest so elusive in Pemberley's grand chambers," Bingley phrased his words as he would a question. His feet longed to draw closer to her.

A sliver of panic seemed to flit through Jane's eyes before her timid answer. "The halls are - large. They echo."

The hint at her loneliness did not escape Bingley, and he quickly proffered his arm. "Perhaps I may interest you in a walk today, madame? Lambton could hardly be mistaken as quiet."

She eyed his arm, then his face, for one wordless moment - and then took the former with a smile.

"Thank you - Charles."

Bingley tried not to smile - truly did - but his name upon her lips warmed him as nothing else did. He bowed slightly before leading them on their way. While her uncle's shop may take its residence upon the busiest street in town, he knew easily which paths and turns to take that they may wander in emptier streets with only her handmaid to chaperone.

The walked quietly for nearly half an hour. He hoped, at least, that she cherished his company as dearly as he cherished hers.

"How fares Mr. Darcy?" Bingley was first to speak when their stroll neared the edge of town. Unwilling to end their encounter so soon, Bingley turned the bend with anxious trepidation - and found himself rewarded with Jane's smile.

"He is - difficult," she answered his question then.

Bingley moved quickly to face her. "Has he - is he - "

"Oh no! Not at all." Her free hand flew to stay his arm. The sensation of  _both_  sets of her soothing fingers laid upon his person sent both cooling comfort and fiery warmth through Bingley's veins. He watched her with eyes wide and lips open. "Mr. Darcy is - gentlemanly enough."

Whether her words meant a fact that Bingley direly wished for - he did not dare to ask.

"You spend much time alone?" He asked instead, heart pained by her obvious frailty. His arm instinctively pressed her closer.

"I - yes," Jane answered, eyes suddenly blinking furiously. "I - I do not claim to understand him, though perhaps his distance is therefore welcome. He is a - strange man."

Bingley's chest swelled, aching. Was he to rejoice that she found as little joy as he did in her newfound marriage - or would he be the better man to hope that she find happiness when he could not?

"Not all pairings - succeed instantly," he offered limply, uncertain himself. His eyes remained fixed upon hers.

She did not answer - until moments later, when their faces leaned far closer to each other than they should. "And you and Elizabeth?"

Bingley stilled, her person still attached to his side.

He did not know - could not answer. What was he to say?

He licked his lips and pressed his right hand firmly atop the slender fingers upon his left arm. His eyes and lungs felt weary as his lips sketched Caroline's many quarrels with Elizabeth.

"She sounds not unlike the Elizabeth I know," Jane responded softly, when his words ceased. "She can be - fiery, when provoked."

"Yes." Bingley could not trust himself to say more.

It was not considered proper, after all, to call another man's bride - or, God forbid,  _wife_  - the only woman to have captured his heart. It would not do to draw attention to his unwavering affection for a woman not his own. He would - could not - share his true thoughts today.

* * *

"I hope, madame, that I have proven worthy company the past hours." Charles smiled at her, ever handsome, when they reached the fork in the road. Brigham Park laid at the end of the path on the right - Pemberley on the left.

"Your candidness cheers, sir," Jane answered gently. Her own arm ached from its unmoving pose around his arm the entire morning - and yet, she could not let go.

"I fear candidness is generally not a trait praised, milady." Charles' rueful smile seemed older today - wearier, deeper. She wondered if his newfound wrinkles could ever be soothed away.

"I find it - wonderful," the words escaped her without thought. His sudden stiffening, then subsequent beaming, brought to light to gravity of her own words. Jane's breath shortened. "I - I meant to say - I meant mere that - "

"Thank you," Charles intercepted, voice breathy. Her breathing stopped when he raised her hand and pressed it against his beating heart. His eyes sought for something in hers - begging and hopeful. "Jane, I - "

"Sir," she cried out suddenly and withdrew her hand. He stood as if burnt - yet made no move to reach for her again. Jane's heart beat wildly, its pace surpassing any rush she had ever felt before. One moment earlier, when his eyes had met hers, she had almost given in to selfish abandon. Oh how close she had come to flinging herself in his arms, resting on his chest for joy and comfort! It was not helpful, not at all, that Charles was kinder, happier, and always so much more caring than her new groom ever was.

The gentleman and the lady stood still as stone for many moments. Her handmaid hovered a dutiful distance behind and waited with them.

While he was first to sigh, she was first to speak.

"I am sorry." The thought that she had caused him pain, however warranted, grieved her sorely; and the apology flowed with ease from her lips.

Charles nodded, frowning at first, before slowly offering a smile. "You do no wrong - Mrs. Darcy."

"Charles, please - don't - "

"Yes, I'm sorry."

Neither truly cared to specify the topic of their rebuke and apology, for to do so was to discuss emotions neither was yet willing to admit.

"If you are lonely," Charles said slowly after another minute's silence, "perhaps we could arrange a visit?"

Jane looked up towards him, the handsome savior of her heart. She frowned slightly. "Visit each other - alone?"

"No, of course, I did not mean - " Charles trailed off himself. Fidgeting, he moved closer and tried again. "I - I meant a - dinner, perhaps? 'Tis longer than a call, and I believe you would much wish for your sister's - company."

The allusion to Elizabeth's existence made Jane feel pointedly ashamed. Despite the point of neglect, however, she could not deny a promise of a proper meal with Charles - without the ceaseless walking - was a rather delightful thought.

"You and - Darcy. Both of you - no,  _three_ of you - Georgiana may come too. It would be -  _nice_  to have your company tomorrow evening." Her lack of immediate answer sent Charles into a bumbling spiral of thoughts.

Heart lighter than it had felt all morning, Jane smiled. "We would be honored, Mr. Bingley."

He smiled and nodded at her assent.

"I shall see you tomorrow - madame." He bowed to leave a kiss upon her hand.

"Tomorrow," she echoed happily, before he let her go.

The word had not held such great promise for weeks.

* * *

The afternoon sunbeams drew lazily across the floor of his study. The glass of port he held in his hand was, thank God, just his second for the day. He had gotten himself drunk quite enough times over the past five weeks - even if some of those times, like the night after he'd kissed Elizabeth, were inevitable.

Armed by his solitude, Darcy heaved a heavy sigh. Vivid memories of their encounter, however futile, haunted his every waking moment. The feeling of her body between his hands, her fingers in his hair, and her lips sealed against his - was a sensation he would never forget.

"Mr. Darcy?"

He turned towards the light rapping on the door. Did someone call his name?

The rapping continued - until the same frail female voice repeated, "Mr. Darcy?"

If the voice had been any stronger, he would easily have satisfied himself with imagining that Elizabeth had fled Brigham Park and come to elope with him.

Why was eloping not permitted for people married? From his own experience - husbands needed the practice as much as bachelors did.

The soft, persistent knocking ceased at his silence - followed by a nearly urgent but equally quiet "Mr. Darcy?"

Resigned to the reality that the faceless woman was not his beloved Elizabeth, Darcy responded.

"Come in." He could not resist the sigh.

"Sir." Jane Bennet, timid and withdrawn, appeared at his door. Darcy frowned without thought.

She did not speak as she moved towards his desk, and his temper nearly flared at the thought that  _she_  - and not Elizabeth - entered his sanctuary today.

"Sir?"

He did not spare her a single glance. His eyes remained, resolute, upon his oaken desk.

"Sir - "

"Yes?" Whether he barked from impatience or guilt, he no longer knew.

"Mr. Darcy, I - I wish to inform you - of - dinner."

Her faltering words took several moments to impress their meaning.

"Dinner - tonight?" He looked up when he understood, puzzled. "I do not - you are aware that I do not - participate."

Her sudden pained look evoked slight guilt over his neglect, if not his lack of affection.

Darcy straightened, turning to face her more fully. The desk served as an ample barrier between them.

"Are you - inviting me?" He asked hesitantly, hoping against his good sense that she was  _not_ attempting any form of reconciliation.

Her subsequent answer both surprised and worried him.

"We have received an invitation," she said, voice quiet as can be, "to dinner at Brigham Park - tomorrow."

An invitation to dinner - personal yet formal - hovered dangerously in his mind. The thought of visiting Bingley, reunited in friendship, tugged at his heart. The thought of seeing Elizabeth as hostess of  _Bingley's_  home, another man's bride - seemed far from appealing.

"I - have agreed."

Jane's sudden words surprised him - and he was certain his face indicated his curiosity in full.

"Sir, I - " The small lady quivered, looking entirely ill at ease. Her teary eyes communicated sadness - fear.

Darcy blinked, mind blank - then busy.

Was he truly that imposing of a man?

Miss Jane's shaking form seemed to affirm his unfortunate shared bloodline with Catherine de Bourgh - though Elizabeth had never seemed to share such fear. He had given his new bride no reason for concern - no judgement, no demands, no interaction. He had left her to roam about Pemberley to her heart's desire, and she had repeatedly chosen to exile herself to the drawing room. He had yielded her  _Georgiana -_ and she had repeatedly ignored the poor girl. His stray thoughts reminded him that Mrs. Reynolds had lamented often of the new Mrs. Darcy's lack of appetite.

Darcy himself found that he could not care less.

"Sir, if you find the choice unacceptable - " She paused all to herself.

Darcy looked at her, his sharp mind muddled. He had not met Elizabeth since that fateful exchange last week - though he had observed her twice from afar. The thought of partaking a meal across from Elizabeth, dressed in all her finery - eyes bright and smile beautiful - raged against his dwindling resolve like wildfire. The realization that he would be meeting  _Mrs. Bingley,_ a woman mere days from her confirmation, sent arrows through his heart.

"I can - inform them of our absence if you - "

"No," Darcy found himself answering. His eyes rested on Jane, though his mind thought of her sister. The prospect of seeing Elizabeth - of conversing and engaging and indulging in her company - eclipsed any qualms he had felt at acknowledging her new position. He licked his lips lightly, port on his tongue. "We - we shall attend."

* * *

"We shall have guests tonight," the master of Brigham Park announced casually upon his arrival at the breakfast table.

Elizabeth froze, even as Caroline tittered.

"It is  _just_  the thing, Charles!" Miss Bingley responded gleefully. "The reclusion has been  _torturous_  to the highest degree!"

If the preening lady noticed anything wrong with Elizabeth at all, she made no act to relieve it.

"You shall prepare the menu, Ja - Elizabeth?" Mr. Bingley looked startled at his own mistake, though his eyes stood their ground.

Elizabeth swallowed despite her empty mouth. "Yes, sir."

"You trust the country nobody to set your table?" Caroline's scoffing tones left no room for doubt. "You have lost your  _mind_ , Charles!"

Elizabeth's stinging eyes and tapered tongue threatened to break lose with every passing moment. By Pemberley's lake, she could mourn undisturbed. Here, she must keep her guard.

" _I_ know your friends far better than the country chit does," Caroline continued. Her fanning action looked comical in the cool morning. "Pray, allow  _me_  to govern your little  _dinner party_."

"No."

While his denial of his sister's wishes brought joy to Elizabeth, the fact remained that she knew little of what she was expected to do.

"Mrs. Bingley shall - fulfill her role," the young master persisted in his rare display of resolve. "She - she shall prove more familiar of our guests' habits."

Caroline moved quickly to protest, Elizabeth to question - but the only man at the table silenced them both. "The Darcys visit tonight."

Then he gulped down his food unceremoniously and left the table without another word.

Dumbfounded, guilt-ridden, and elated beyond measure - Elizabeth pressed her thinning hands together upon her lap. Despite her many weeks of residence, Brigham Park had never become home. Why would one wish to call home a place of stinging barbs, gross negligence, and lonely nights?

The thought of two beloved people - thought beloved in vastly different ways - appearing at this place confused her mind. Was she to be compelled, at last, to accept the permanence of her stay? Was she to play hostess to two - or even three - people she loved and to pretend that she was happy with the task?

Angry and tired, Elizabeth bit her bottom lip. If the universe would ask her, just this once, what she truly preferred - then perhaps she may explain that she'd much rather play hostess  _beside_  Darcy, rather than towards him.

As it was - the universe remained a stoic, spoiled brat.

"If I may, Eliza," Caroline begun across the plates and trays. Elizabeth barely spared her a glance. "One must acknowledge that as an acquaintance of the Darcys for a  _much_ longer time, I am  _uniquely_  qualified to bestow wisdom regarding their preferences at meals. If you must know, Mr. Darcy prefers his meals as - "

"Caroline!" Elizabeth stood, heart tight at the thought of sharing a meal with Fitzwilliam again. "I believe a woman who has been his wi -  _bride_  - for an entire fortnight may know plenty regarding his preferences."

The distaste on Caroline's face came with little masking. "And you believe that your  _horrific_  position as his former partner shall qualify you instantly to be proud, disdainful, and arrogant regarding your knowledge concerning him? If anything, I would think you know what  _not_ to do to please his person."

"I know  _plenty_ ," Elizabeth growled, eyes narrowing despite herself. She knew, thoroughly, how gallant he was a man, how charming, how handsome, how irresistible. She knew the joy of his conversation, the sorcery of his smile. She even knew - though foolishly, perhaps - the sensation of his lips on hers.

But there was little she was willing to admit to Caroline.

"Your vanity and pride knows no bounds, Elizabeth Bennet."

The smirk on her own face felt both satisfying and sad. "I shall prove you wrong yet, Caroline."

Elizabeth's curtsy was curt indeed as she left the breakfast room that morning. There were few joys she cherished these days as much as the privilege to dress, serve, and impress her beloved Fitzwilliam and darling Jane.

And if images of a certain lakeside kiss lingered in her mind, Elizabeth was determined to confess the fact to no one tonight.=

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It may all seem pointlessly meandering, but I PROMISE this is going somewhere. Please do remember that the first set of pairings had only lasted two weeks. The four of them had been assured of their chance to get to know their partners more before their time was cut short. A two-week, freshly-budding romance is not something one throws life away for. It's something one wonders continuously about.


	8. Chapter 8

The indubitable clinking and clanging of metal upon metal, hooves upon stone, and whips against horseback alerted Elizabeth to their guests' arrival. Despite her repeated visits upon Pemberley's land, she had not laid eyes upon the Darcy carriage since that fateful night of their first meeting - when all her hopes and dreams had been torn apart.

Frankly, she never understood Mama's fascination with carriages.

Tonight, of all nights, she found the sight torturous to no end.

"Mr. Darcy, Mrs. Darcy," the footman inevitably announced as Darcy handed a bejeweled Jane to the ground. Elizabeth wondered if she had tied her corset too tightly - if her shallow breaths were as audible to the man standing beside her, or to that man's smirking sister.

She tried to avoid  _his_  gaze - with every last bit of resolve she owned. The thought of meeting the eyes of the man she truly admired, when she stood right beside the man which law had bound to her, was the least appealing action she could ever have imagined.

The circumstances broke her resolve before she could test its limits, when Mr. Darcy unfortunately addressed, "Mr. Bingley, Miss Bingley - Mrs. Bingley."

She lifted her eyes then, only pondering for one slight moment if her former groom noticed at all that she wore his favored colors - that her hair and gown and coat and necklace were meant to reflect the shades of Pemberley that he so loved. She wondered if he -

The lightning bolt that struck her heart was the opposite of what she had prepared for.

Eyes pleading, he watched her like a dessert wanderer regarding his first oasis. His lips parted slightly, his gaze searing her mind as his kiss had seared her heart. Elizabeth frightened herself with a recollection so publicly made - but the feeling of his hand lifting hers quickly dissipated any guilt she had fleetingly experienced.

She waited for him to kiss her hand - for the scandalously delicious sensation of feeling his lips upon her person once more.

He merely bowed over her hand, before stepping back to allow Bingley to do the same to Jane.

Disappointment, surprise, and confusion swirled in her heart as the company made its way to the dining room. The cutting realization that she was in love with another woman's husband - her sister's, no less - condemned her spirit even as memories of his body and touch thrilled her soul. She barely noticed Caroline's snide remarks when she took Mr. Bingley's arm, nor Georgiana's introduction until the young girl sat across her.

"Elizabeth," Georgiana's happy whisper roused her tentatively from her own tumultuous thoughts.

"Georgiana." She could not help smile, rejoicing at the one friendship no person in the room could condemn. "I am beyond happy to see you tonight."

"As I am you!" The young girl exclaimed. Her eyes danced brightly on her fair face. "Oh, how I've missed you, Elizabeth! Pemberley is - "

The clearing of her brother's throat silenced Georgiana - as well as the ready acquiescence on Elizabeth's tongue.

Ashamed at the joy she felt over Georgiana's words, Elizabeth licked her lips and forced herself to play the hostess she was destined to portray tonight.

"I hope you shall enjoy dinner," Elizabeth spoke when her voice had sufficiently calmed. "I took care to choose - wisely."

She could not resist a glance towards Darcy, and he rewarded her with a small smile of his own.

"I'm sure we shall find the dishes delightful," he said lowly, perhaps too low for public company. Elizabeth's chest tightened increasingly under his lingering gaze, though she found it impossible to look away.

"I can't say much for your tastes, Georgiana, if you like the food tonight," Caroline Bingley, unhappily neglected, called out in a voice as loud as a tropical bird's. She was gratified, undeservingly, with all eyes being turned towards her. " _I_ prefer my stately dinners, of course, but  _Eliza_ could hardly know what our dear guests prefer!"

"Caro - "

"No, no, Charles, don't  _you_ go about defending your  _darling_ wife. Oh, the wonderful produce that she has wasted!"

Elizabeth swallowed as Bingley's stiffened form beside her clearly indicated that none would be coming to her defense tonight. Caroline would roam free - cursing and insulting every creature she would wish to offend. The woman was horrific, an utter villain - but what hostess would she be if she were to encourage a quarrel at her very own dinner table?

"The dishes shall prove lovely, I am sure," Darcy repeated gallantly across the table - and successfully silenced Caroline for the subsequent hour.

Gratefulness and affection swelled in Elizabeth's heart, unrepressed. She braved the  _amuse-bouche_  and the soup courageously, glancing only at her plate and at Georgiana. They exchanged subtle smiles whenever Caroline began another rant, before each resuming focus upon their food.

"The spoons are entirely  _wrong_!" Caroline cried when the platters and cloths were cleared for the meat to come. "You  _abuse_ the family china,  _Eliza_."

"I apologize,  _Caro_ , for forgetting your preferences in my desire to please our guests," Elizabeth bit back quickly.

Having few successful retorts in her arsenal, Caroline Bingley seemed content to have her complaints responded to with single lines resulting in little to no conversation - or dismissed entirely.

This arrangement, Elizabeth found, suited her just fine.

"And what of dessert, Eliza?" Caroline whined when the clearly successful meal - as evidenced by the smile Darcy sent Elizabeth's way after every dish arrived - drew close to its end. "I find it most negligent of you to ignore my advice on what Miss Darcy prefers. The young lady is a  _dear_ friend, and I - "

"I much prefer the lemon cream," Georgiana spoke softly just as the very dish was served.

Elizabeth looked towards her former sister, ready to offer her quiet thanks, when Darcy himself interrupted, "As do I. You make a wonderful home - Elizabeth."

His eyes flew instantly to Elizabeth, and she returned his gaze with shock, then passion. The stilted smile he had offered upon Brigham Park's entrance today had been traded in for a genuine, heartfelt grin. His features, objectively handsome before, now composed themselves into the most attractive face she had ever seen. She had seen her fair share of handsome men, particularly plenty in redcoats.

But tonight - at this very hour - there was no man she would rather have on her side than the gallant, handsome, dashing, and wonderful Fitzwilliam Darcy.

The small gasp that escaped her own lips compelled her to recollect her senses, and she buried her attentions into her dessert. To be gaping after one's guest was bad enough - to do so before her groom and his bride was utter scandal!

If there were any further words exchanged during dessert - and she was fairly certain Caroline exchanged a few with herself - Elizabeth could not remember a single topic mentioned. Bingley's gracious praise for her hosting, Caroline's subsequent sneer, and Jane's unexpectedly easy concurrence for the separation of the sexes passed by in a mangled, blurry mess in Elizabeth's mind. She almost thought, as the women made their way to the drawing room, that she saw Fitzwilliam eyeing her gown - perhaps noticing its similar coloring to the one she wore that morning, a few mere hours before their fateful first meeting.

Did he remember how he had almost kissed her then? Did his heart pound as hers did when she recalled their bodies pressed together in a silly game of sardines?

Caroline's whines echoed throughout the room almost as soon as they entered.

Did he remember when he  _did_ kiss her - when their embrace by the lake had turned to something much more?

The door had barely closed behind them when Jane claimed the need for fresh air. Elizabeth, happy for the chance, quickly expressed the need for a book herself.

* * *

Brigham Park, purchased with pride, had always proven itself to be worth every shilling. The sprawling gardens and airy halls promised constant joy; the rustic furnishings comfort. After multiple attempts to purchase a variety of estates throughout England, Bingley had found himself guided by his trusted friend to choose the one closest to Pemberley.

He had never regretted the choice.

"Jane?" He attempted softly at the sound of a nearby branch. His body felt heavy tonight, laden with words and hopes unspoken.

The silence greeting him drew focus upon the guilt in his heart.

What gentleman would stalk his own gardens for a glimpse of another man's wife? Was he no better than the men in London's drunken brothels - or Kind David himself in his pride?

Perturbed, Bingley landed himself upon the nearest bench.

Despite Jane's many claims that her sister Elizabeth was the true outdoorsman, and not she, he himself had seen only fleeting proof of the fact. Indeed, Elizabeth wandered from Brigham Park every morning - meandering into corners of the estate that he himself had never sought. These gardens, however, she had never touched.

And Bingley was exceedingly grateful for the fact.

"Charles," the soft whisper of his name arrived with the light rustling of a well-made gown.

He turned instantly, eyes searching in the dark. Lovers, after all, seldom needed candles to illuminate what their hearts already knew.

"Jane."

"Charles."

He rushed towards her voice, grateful beyond measure that his memories of these gardens had not been tainted by Elizabeth's presence - thankful that Jane had understood his many references to his garden's blooms tonight.

"You - you look stunning," Bingley stated to the darkness as his manly hands found her slender ones.

"Charles, you cannot - "

"Please, hush, Jane - my Jane." His voice quaked, his hands shuddered. The mere suggestion of tonight's dinner party had been his first misstep. Indulgence of the thrill in his heart when he'd seen her tonight - adorned so beautifully in lavish blue - had only been the inevitable consequence. He shook as he lifted her knuckles to his lips. "Jane, oh Jane - you shine brighter than the brightest evening star."

"Charles." She swallowed audibly, fingers tightening upon his own. "I cannot, I do not - "

"Do I offend you, my darling? Do I - "

"No," she answered quickly. Her hushed voice could not contain the fervor that radiated so clearly from her shoulders. She stepped closer, closing the yard between them. "I feared you would not come."

Her fears, so thoroughly mirroring his own, kindled further understanding. His left hand still entwined with hers, his right drifted to her shoulder.

"Your fears, your worries," he spoke gently, every thought heavy upon his tongue. His right hand rested on the curve that descended from her elegant neck. "It pains me to witness."

"But  _your_ life, Charles." Jane breathes, voice airy. His eyes slowly deciphered her pretty face etched with worry. "How can Caroline and Elizabeth, they - "

Her kindness bid her silence, and he loved her all the more for it.

"Your beauty exceeds your appearance." Bingley heard his own voice trembling. "Your kindness, your grace - "

"Can never equal yours," she responded.

"No, Jane - you - " Words failed him as threatening tears assaulted his eyes. With darkness as cover, Bingley breathed and heaved his deepest sigh yet. " _You_ are the best of all women. I cannot - I  _dare_ not - consider myself worthy of you."

His heartbreak thrummed palpably between their chests. The mere two inches separating their persons refused him serenity.

"Charles," she claimed his name as if offering a caress. His fingers twitched to touch her face.

"If Brigham Park could have selfishly kept its first mistress - I live forever a happy man."

"Charles, please, do not - "

"I live in a home of turmoil, Jane. I cannot promise any happiness when I - "

"But you  _must try_ ," her voice, suddenly forceful, ceased his spiral of self-pity. The tight fingers grasping his hand tugged at his soul. "Charles, please, promise me. Let not any sadness in my own life spur you away from your happiness."

He keenly doubted the existence of any happiness apart from her. He unfortunately also doubted the propriety of expressing such thoughts at all.

"If I had but the choice to regard you  _not_ as a sister," he said instead, voice low.

Her glistening eyes suddenly hovered unmistakably closer. His chest tightened almost painfully.

He swallowed loudly as he drew closer, his lips a mere inch from hers. "My happiness is found only in yours."

"Then  _choose_  to be happy," came her clear yet muddled answer - before he pressed his lips upon hers.

* * *

"Elizabeth!"

He dashed forward instantly at her emergence - gathering her into his arms without a spare thought. He found gratification when her arms wound willingly around his shoulders, though he feared he would not have let go even if she had not done so. A horrid guest he may have been - but he could not bring himself to regret escaping Bingley's company the very moment he could.

"Fitzwilliam." His broad shoulders nearly swallowed her voice - and he unwillingly forced himself to step back slightly.

Her withering frame felt fragile in his arms.

"I came - I'm sorry," she muttered, eyes wild. The pain that weighed so plainly upon her chest trailed through her shoulders, up his arms, and to his heart. His mind burned in anger over every insult he could recall from dinner.

"Miss Bingley has no right," Darcy growled - angry at nearly every person in the house save Elizabeth. "To mistreat her sister so, she is an utter - "

"No, please," Elizabeth's eyes and voice pleaded. He looked down, surprised at the restraint. "To seek contentment where I find none - is a troublesome matter. The power of your empathy can serve only to willow my already-wavering intent."

"Elizabeth - "

"Fitzwilliam." She drew closer, her nose a mere inch from his chin. "Your assistance - was valuable."

"Your strength - for yourself, for Georgiana - " He longed to add ' _for me_.' "I cannot fathom the difficulty of the life you endure."

"It is not  _horrific_." Her lips shook. He longed to close his eyes to her pain - yet found himself unable to ignore it. "Mr. Bingley - tolerates me."

"But you are not a woman to be merely tolerated!" Darcy stepped back, suddenly fuming. The grief in his heart nearly erupted at the touch of the anger in his veins. "You are - Elizabeth, it suffers me to surrender you to a man who knows not a  _smidgeon_ of your true worth."

Two tears escaped her eyes. Darcy knew his own eyes brimmed as well.

"Dearest, darling Elizabeth." He returned to his former stance before her. His limbs burned with fire of an entirely different kind. "Your vivacity and life, your passion and wit - how can a man not treasure you?"

Her shoulders quivered, her eyes enlarged. The heat of her body radiated clearly between them.

"Elizabeth," he spoke her name softly as his hands reached for her neck.

She kissed him instantly, fiercely - hands fisting upon his lapels. His lips crashed against hers with hunger and fire and pain. The dull volumes of Bingley's library nearly spun alive in anthropomorphic rapture as the trails of their passion ignited every surrounding item. His hand on her back pressed her tightly against his chest, her hip quickly settling right between his thighs. The touch of her body - intimate and warm - fueled the sensation already brewing between his ribs.

Her actions did not protest - but instead encouraged - as her curves fell soundly against his body, her hands wandering before his dared to even move. They moved quickly across the room, nearly knocking down vases and sculptures in their wake. The back of his knees nudged precariously upon the edge of the chaise, a mere breath from pulling her down upon it together.

Her hands grazed heatedly above, below, and around his body - grasping at textures beneath his tailcoat. His lips wandered from lips to cheek to jaw to neck to collar to lips. So intense was their exchange that it took Darcy's hands upon her bosom - her breasts gathered under his warm palms - that her resulting gasp of pleasure awakened both parties to awareness of their ill-timed passion.

Shaking hands returned to the relative chastity of shoulders and waist, neither willing to part entirely. She panted, heart aflame, against his chest - he against her hair.

"Jane - " she whispered helplessly against his cravat, every pant heaving her bosom against his body. Guilty yet ecstatic, he treasured every touch.

"Charles," he said with a sigh - far less sympathetically than Elizabeth surely felt.

Any man who had license to touch his Elizabeth thus - to feel no guilt in such intimate caresses - may as well go to hell.

"I apologize not for taking liberties that ought only to belong to your husband," Darcy muttered, blinded by anger and envy.

He did not expect the laughter that mingled with her laden breathing. "He is no husband to me."

His mind took two moments to understand.

"You did not - you have not - " He pulled back to meet her eye. He searched, hoped, wondered. "You are - a bride."

She nodded her head in minuscule motion.

His joy and elation and shame and confusion rose with every breath.

"Elizabeth - "

"Fitzwilliam, but you - "

"No!" He pulled her in tightly against his chest, cursing the fact that he would need to let go before the morning came. "Jane is no wife of mine.  _You_ \- you are the only bride I shall ever come to love."

* * *

The full moon caused the treetops to glisten as their carriage rumbled back towards imposing Pemberley. The light that had illumined her heart from the very first moment Charles had met her eyes tonight radiated still, unquenchable.

She nearly didn't care that her groom sat across from her this very moment.

"Did you enjoy the evening, sir?" She asked politely when the horses inevitably slowed at the harsher part of the road.

Darcy - often so dark and severe - appeared almost distracted tonight. His eyes looked unseeingly at the floor of the carriage; his hands lay unmoving by his sides.

If he was in no mood for conversation - then it was all the better.

Jane sighed, fighting her smile, as she redirected her gaze beyond the curtains. The five precious stolen kisses in the garden tonight proved fleeting yet revelatory. The light touch of Charles' fingers on her waist, his lips over her own, brightened her world as no other touch had ever done. His smile as they parted moved her heart until it nearly lifted off from her person and fluttered in the space between them.

How was she to acknowledge another man as her husband when her own heart longed for another?

"I'm sorry." Darcy's muttering followed a near-kick he had sent her way. The carriage resumed its fluid movement soon enough.

"It is no bother, sir," she answered kindly - and waited for him to return to his stoic staring.

She had no such luck.

"I hope you enjoyed the evening, madame," he deflected her own prior inquiry to her.

"Yes." She dared not say more.

What kind of lady would she be, after all, if she were to divulge the true source of her joy tonight?

"Brigham Park retains its charms well through the seasons." The civility in his voice hinted at boredom - serenity.

How did the man remain so calm after an evening so powerful?

Guilt tugged at Jane's heart at the knowledge that  _she_  was most probably the only party in the carriage who rejoiced tonight. She had no reason to expect, after all, that Mr. Darcy had delighted in playing the neglected guest while his host had dallied in the garden with her.

The deliberation she invested into refusing to blush caused her limbs to grow faint and weary.

What sort of lady was she - pray, what sort of guest? What sort of  _sister_?

One thought of Elizabeth caused the weight of her actions tonight to flood her heart entirely. Jane nearly wept at the sensation.

She was thankful, frankly, that her groom chose not to speak again the rest of the way - for she would have no words to offer apart from broken confessions.

Elizabeth had Charles - the kindest, sweetest, happiest man in the world as her groom. Was she to throw herself in the way of her happiness? It was true that Charles had made no secret of his turmoil, of his grief when torn between sister and wife - but what would she be if she were to excuse her own recklessness as she pursued contentment, even at the cost of destroying her sister's?

 _Wife_  - the word carelessly thought re-emerged into her consciousness. The knife that had crept wordlessly into her heart twisted ferociously.

In the darkness of the night and the suddenly stifling carriage, Jane Bennet lifted her cross at the foot of the family altar.

She herself may never become the happy wife of an upright man - but she may still yet allow dear Elizabeth to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See? Progress! If I ever revamp this entire thing, I'll make sure I clarified even more what happened. Mrs. Gardiner, in her efforts to cover up her first 'mistake,' has skipped the entire trial period altogether for the 'restored' couples. Now, stolen kisses and make-out sessions are all they can enjoy (until further notice) because, on paper, they'd already all chosen to maintain.
> 
> That said, I'd still like to think this chapter was objectively well-written. I shaved years off my own life to write all this angst! I hope you liked the steaminess of it all!


	9. Chapter 9

She woke with a start - a keen jump from a reclining position to her current upright state. The sweat on her back caused the fabric of her nightgown to cling uncomfortably against her skin. The vivid memories of her dream swirled in her mind, unwilling to be dispelled.

If she had any say about the matter, Elizabeth knew, she would gladly trade reality for her dream in Darcy's arms as well.

The rooster's cries resonated through the open window and into her sparsely-decorated room. The pale light of an early dawn permeated the darkness. It had been a blessing beyond words to have had her own quarters for her six weeks in Brigham Park. God only knew what she would have done without her sanctuary.

Tonight, however, would be the night her fate became sealed forever.

Angry, Elizabeth slid off the bed - a bed she had disdained for an entire fortnight before succumbing to - and marched towards her dresser. Her hands gripped the edges of the well-crafted surface, and she nearly shook her adjoining mirror and its unseemly reflection until they tumbled to the floor.

This room, this house, this title - every last bit of her surroundings reminded her of the position she loathed yet occupied. The fresh handkerchiefs she'd brought from Longbourn, left blank as they should have been for every bride, now bore the initials of 'EB' - with the latter letter unfortunately not a representation of her maiden name. Oh how she longed to have her tokens bear the letters 'E' and 'D' instead!

Shouting servants sent their morning echoes through the hall, and Elizabeth wondered briefly if Caroline would ever forgive their country habits. A lady so built for town - surely she suffered in Derbyshire as well? A stray sniffle escaped Elizabeth's nose at the slight envy she felt for Caroline - for any woman, in fact, who was not estranged from her own sibling due to unrequited feelings.

When had her life - so simple in Hertfordshire, so blissful in Pemberley - become the terror that it was today?

"Mrs. Bingley," the maid called behind her bedroom door. The help, at least, understood her country hours.

It was merely unfortunate that they had no choice but to address her by the name she detested.

"Come in," Elizabeth called faintly before placing herself upon the dresser's stool. She felt no excitement for the day's events - yet could at least allow herself to look presentable as she mourned.

 _Mourning_  - the word struck her deeply, and her resulting scoff nearly sent the poor girl away. As a child, Elizabeth had often listened to Aunt Gardiner's tales. The stories of swelling hearts and starry eyes - impassioned vows and tender kisses - every account of second Meetings had evoked dreamy sighs from the Bennet sisters. The first Meeting, while necessary, was merely an opportunity to declare one's decision - to express the mutual desire to revoke or maintain their pairing.

The second Meeting, set two long months away from the initial exchange, had always meant to be the romantic one.

Elizabeth closed her eyes as her hair parted and pulled away from her face. With weeks of marriage behind them, second Meeting couples were expected to express their love and hopes and dreams in public confirmation. Every pair of successful lovers cherished the chance for their neighbors to witness their love - and often regaled their audience with bold, passionate displays of affection as well.

Elizabeth sighed, heart and mind in twisted pain.

Sometimes, she wished Aunt Gardiner had never told her so much. Perhaps then - she would not have so much to lament.

"Which dress shall you wear, Mrs. Bingley?"

The present inevitably interrupted her fantasies - her unspoken imaginations of confirming her vows to Fitzwilliam rather than Charles. It was not as if, after all, she had anything dear to say about the latter.

Could she close her eyes and recite her vows tonight, all while picturing her groom's friend instead?

"Mrs. Bingley?" The voice insisted.

Elizabeth opened her eyes with a sigh.

"That one." She pointed to Darcy's favorite dress - suddenly glad that day dresses had not been allowed for their dinner engagement three fateful days ago.

She may not be permitted to express any preferences for any other man tonight - but there was no one to restrain her from impressing the one her heart actually preferred.

* * *

When Jane attempted to support herself into a seated position that morning, only her head agreed.

Quickly and thoroughly, she collapsed into a helpless heap upon her own bed. Her head spun, even as her fingers quivered. The covers, meant to provide warmth against the morning chill, served instead to trap the heat emanating from her body - until her eyesight blurred.

"Carrie! Diana! Mrs. Reynolds!" She cried for someone,  _anyone,_ to come to her aid.

Her handmaid appeared with remarkable speed, though her own feeble senses barely recognized the poor girl.

"Mrs. Darcy, shall I fetch you breakfast?"

The mere mention of the name she detested had Jane nearly retching. Her hand gripped the fabric over her chest, knuckles shaky and pale.

"Mrs. Darcy? Shall I - "

"No," Jane formulated each word painstakingly, "I shall not eat this morning."

"You look weak, madame, shall we perhaps provide some broth? Mr. Darcy might worry. He dictated distinct orders that - "

"No!" Jane nearly coughed the word. Every breath felt laden, every source of light lashed as would an angry whip against her aching head. She shut her eyes tightly. Memories of Brigham Park flooded her mind immediately, as if merely awaiting her summon. The cheerful mornings and leisurely evenings - her violently beating heart at their latest dinner - the sweet, stolen moments in the garden - every recollection filled her with both comfort and fear.

What would she ever do without such happiness?

Despite the many comforts Pemberley boasted, from humble servants to beautiful instruments, the estate mocked her daily with its imposing presence. Its master stayed safely tucked away - but still, she worried that his patience would wear thin one day.

Was Mr. Darcy a violent man? Was he a temperamental one? He was a negligent husband, for certain - and Jane could hardly even bear any comparison between his angry countenance and Bingley's happy smiles.

One thought of Charles compelled Jane to quickly dismiss her servants, relenting only to promise that she would drink one bowl of broth. Alone in Mrs. Darcy's chambers, surrounded by all things hers yet foreign, she at least could feign that she was merely a guest.

One day, she pretended in her feverish delirium, she would leave this cursed place and run to Brigham Park. One day, Charles himself will come to claim her - raising his knightly banner high. One day, she would visit Brigham Park in the morning and tarry all day until she entered the mistress's chambers and would -

Her own gasp woke Jane's mind and pulled her from her drowning thoughts. She blinked rapidly, painfully.

The Mistress of Brigham Park - was Elizabeth.

And Jane would never begrudge her sister the joy she deserved.

* * *

The dew-stained grass fell prey repeatedly under his heavy feet as he trudged to his sacred spot. The sun scoffed at his despair, the birds cursed him in song. The hallowed ground upon which Elizabeth had first met his lips with hers lingered unoccupied - empty and forlorn.

Groaning, Darcy lowered himself to the ground, near staggering in his grief.

He'd never doubted the wisdom of the system before. It was wise to allow a fortnight of mutual observation for every couple freshly paired; it was wise to offer the choice of maintaining or revoking one's pairing as desired; it was wise to proffer couples yet another six weeks to develop their affections - that their confirmation at the second Meeting may prove heartfelt and jubilant.

It took the deep aching in his heart today to prove that the system, when abused by a negligent matchmaker, was torturous indeed.

Angry, Darcy threw a pebble into the lake, its weak ripples all but disappearing after the initial splash. He threw another right after, only to have its effects dissipate once more. Agitated, frustrated, he stood with multiple stones in his hand - before hurling one after another into the quiet waters.

The lake, once beautiful, glared at him today as it swallowed his angry stone after stone.

"Elizabeth," her name escaped his tired lips.

"Elizabeth," he mumbled again as he dropped back onto the uneven ground.

Tears threatened to overflow, and he blinked most furiously to keep them away, as he lowered himself until he lay flat upon the grass. Every touch, every glance, every kiss he'd shared with his first and beloved bride - every moment of their interactions had brightened his life despite any accompanying guilt. He wondered, often, if kissing her before that first Meeting would have altered their respective life courses. If he had taken her as his wife - it would have been enough. Mrs. Gardiner would then have no possible way of pretending her mistake had never occurred.

But would Elizabeth herself have wished it?

Eyes closed, Darcy relived every stolen caress they had shared in Brigham Park's neglected library. Her response to his touch and his kisses, at the very least, informed him of her willingness to share their bodies had society allowed them to. The larger query was - would she be just as willing to share their hearts?

Darcy clenched his fists as Elizabeth's name tumbled forth from his lips once more. Unwilling to be found tongue-tied at the confirmation, he'd tried to compose his vows for the past two days. Yet, time and again, his empty page would reflect his sorrow back at him. If he had been tasked to admire Elizabeth, he realized, his words would flow unimpeded. With the role of his bride now replaced by the sister, however, he had nearly nothing to say.

Was he to thank her for having an aunt who shackled him to an unwanted marriage? Was he to use words such as "quiet" and "still" to praise his wordless bride?

The loud cry of a distant, angry bird roused Darcy from his painful depths of thought. His eyes opened unwillingly, his mind clearly opposing the very existence of today. His lungs panted as his head spun.

If it was so clear that he wanted no part of this marriage - and when it seemed equally clear that Elizabeth scorned hers as well - would it be entirely wrong to request another switch? If all parties involved disliked their current pairing - would it be truly that horrible for Mrs. Gardiner to grant them the unique chance to revoke?

A revocation at a second Meeting was unheard of - scandalous, even. The occasion itself teemed of romance and love, not sorrow and separation.

Heart, eyes, and hands clenching, Darcy struggled to find his feet. It was nearly impossible to request a chance to flee this union - but would asking at all be his only chance at happiness?

Quite honestly, he did not know.

* * *

The cobblestones did not echo today. The villagers did not gossip or even direct their spare dances his direction. It was not extraordinary for a man to be walking alone in town. It was commonplace, even.

Their previous stares and glances - of jealousy, admiration, or condemnation - had only been for Jane.

He did not fault them one bit.

Straggling under the nearly noonday sun, Bingley felt bereft, hollow. The company and joy that he had enjoyed for the first dozen nights after the initial exchange - he had rediscovered upon these streets. Society dictated that they not touch, despite her former place as his bride, and they had behaved themselves most blamelessly. Nothing but the most polite of contact had been exchanged between them in public, and they had offered each other comfort only in the most prim and proper of ways. They had behaved with utter innocence - at least, upon these lanes.

Bingley scoffed as he leaned upon the fateful post - the one place where dear, quiet Jane had drawn his attention - and kept it forever. Any wavering doubt that he might still consider the younger Bennet sister to be his lifelong companion had dissipated permanently that Lambton morn. Jane was the elusive star of beauty and grace that he had also dreamed to meet. He would settle for no other.

Her shadows haunted him even now. Glimpses of gowns and bonnets akin to her favorite shades teased him with the impossibility of stumbling upon her today. His aching heart longed for relief - but relief fled further and further away with every passing hour.

Stolen kisses in Brigham Park's acres had proved at least fleeting affection on her part, perhaps a moment of fancy. But, even then, he had known it to be simply that - a fancy - and her presence in his arms a promise that would never find its way to fruition.

He loved her, to the depths of his soul.

She loved him, perhaps, as shown by the gladness in her eyes.

It was simply and tragically unfortunate that love held little weight in the eyes of the system. Perceived affection was good - for individuals blessed enough to share a successful pairing. The lack of affection was blameless - for a couple who might decide to part ways upon the first opportunity.

Ardent affection for another man's bride, handled poorly - was punishable by death.

Bingley sighed, lips quivering. He himself he could risk. He cared little for his life if he had no Jane Bingley within it. He would gladly meet the gallows in exchange for one night of heavenly bliss.

Yet he could not risk Jane.

He could not seal her fate with his own blasphemous desires.

He could not risk destroying the woman he loved.

* * *

The carriage groaned at the inevitable rattling caused by the road to town. Lambton, delicate and picturesque, had always looked upon its landed neighbors with pride. Caroline Bingley had reiterated the fact often enough.

Elizabeth could not help wonder if such esteem could survive tonight.

She lowered her eyes, then closed them, when the village lights began to emerge. She did not plan, did not want, to cause scandal. She had no intent whatsoever to draw undue attention.

It was unfortunate that attention had always seemed to follow her.

"I'm sorry." Mr. Bingley said.

She looked up at his still form across the gloomy carriage, wondering if she had imagined it all. Did  _everyone_  wish to apologize to her today? The strange, delirious letter from Jane this morning letter remained tucked in her coat even now.

If, indeed, she had heard Mr. Bingley speak as she thought she did, was he apologizing for a previous misdeed - or seeking pardon for a premeditated act to come? Was he speaking, or perhaps dreaming with his eyes wide open?

"Mr. Bingley?" The formal address persistently remained. "Did you speak?"

His eyes left the window and met hers for one small instant - looking stricken and afraid. She wondered how she looked to him.

His gaze dropped to the empty seat beside him. She withdrew hers to her lap. The rumbling motion jolted her repeatedly awake, despite every desire to die in her sleep this very moment. It seemed cruel to wish that the carriage fall, given that innocent Mr. Bingley would suffer as well.

With every moment closer to Lambton, however, her intent to steer clear of foolish, evil thoughts wavered and withered and shriveled.

Attention found its way to her again as her frowning bridegroom assisted her in her descent from his carriage. The villagers' smiles and starry eyes struck irony into her very heart and stripped her of her humor. The perceived romance in the air, so clearly exhibited by the young maidens' blushes as they line the way to the meeting house's entrance, only served to make her own sorrow more severe.

What was she to do? What was she to say?

Mr. Bingley did not speak again as he led them inside, her arm limp against his. The two hesitant smiles she sported were firstly for the nervous crowd - and then for a clearly excited Aunt Gardiner.

"Mrs. Gardiner," greeted the master of Brigham Park, formal bow in tow.

"Aunt Gardiner," Elizabeth offered, nearly shaking in her shame.

The initial skepticism she had bestowed upon her aunt's designs had been unfounded, she now realized. The kindly woman would never have agreed to any pairing for her nieces, except to the finest of men. She found little to fault with Charles Bingley - and only sheer admiration for Fitzwilliam Darcy.

It was a pity her aunt's mistake had to be rectified.

"Elizabeth." Aunt Gardiner's voice ran mellow and golden. Her matronly hand upon Elizabeth's shoulder overwhelmed the niece's heart. Was she to hide her current turmoil from her dearest aunt as well?

"Elizabeth," the matchmaker repeated. "Are you well?"

Elizabeth lifted her eyes, hands quivering betwixt her skirts. Aunt Gardiner regarded her with nothing short of warm and genuine concern.

But could she risk her aunt's reputation by speaking any less of her current, so-called marriage?

"Mr. and Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy," the footman announced behind them.

Elizabeth directed her every last effort to creating a small smile. "Yes, Aunt. I am well."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is clearly just pure rising action. I hope it didn't bore you too much! For everyone who is anxious about how the confirmation works out (again, HEA promised), please hang in there. I will be posting a Christmas-related story for the next few weeks. Then we'll get right back to this one! Please let me know what you think :)


	10. Chapter 10

He didn't use to scowl much. Raised in Pemberley's fields with Fitzwilliam and George, he had grown up with active limbs and happy faces. The sun had been his friend, the moon his accomplice. Never one to enjoy indoor seclusion, he had often roamed each and every part of their heirloom estate to his heart's content.

Life changed when Mother died - and it broke beyond repair when Father followed soon after into the grave. Georgiana had been but a child when he'd first taken reigns over her rearing.

The results had proven disastrous last year.

Today, his scowl was nearly etched upon his face. Fleeting moments of joy, stolen kisses and cheerful words, offered little by way of genuine relief. Even his great disdain for public attention could not keep him from openly avoiding his pale and willowy bride. No sooner had the footman assisted a quiet Jane Bennet into the Darcy carriage had Darcy declared his intent to travel on horseback today.

The villagers may stare and sigh and swoon. He himself knew better.

There was no romance to enjoy tonight.

Despite supporting a well-groomed bride on his arm, Darcy found his eyes searching the meeting house the very moment he entered, yearning for the presence of another woman. Elizabeth met his gaze soon enough, her eyes red, fearful.

Elizabeth - he nearly called aloud. Was he to suffer not just his own grief but the knowledge that the woman he loved was equally forlorn?

Heart aflame, he strode determinedly towards the Bingleys, caring not that Jane nearly stumbled behind him.

"Mrs. Bingley," he said the only name he was permitted to use. He'd rehearsed his proposal countless times in his mind. He'd planned each look, each word, each whisper. He'd plotted and weighed the wisdom of every implication he was about to share. He  _knew_  what he wanted - and he needed her to want it too.

"Mr. Darcy, Mrs. Darcy," Elizabeth replied with her curtsies - compelling Darcy to at least trade civilities with his friend.

The handshake was weak between them, but Darcy concluded it was his own half-hearted goodwill that affected their greeting. Bingley was, after all, a most generous and hearty man.

"Mrs. Dar - Mrs.  _Bingley_." Darcy gulped at his faux-pas. Elizabeth's eyes watched him keenly, piercing and intelligent. It was fortunate that Bingley seemed occupied with greeting Jane instead. "Shall I - may I - "

Words failed him as his heart suffocated him from within. Every thought and word intended disappeared at the first true sight of reality.

Other couples dallied about - many affectionate and filled with glee. The giggles and sighs in the background informed him as much. Tonight was a night of celebration. It was the hour of union and joy and passionate avowals of lifelong love. It was a magical night of wonder - save for him.

Darcy gulped again before the pressing need to speak - to salvage whatever he possibly can from this farce of a confirmation - enveloped any sense he still possessed.

"May I seek a private audience, madame?" Practiced eloquence escaped him, all pretenses erased.

Her eyes, wide with surprise, reflected his own hesitations back towards him in full, tidal force. Her slightly-parted lips drove him to distraction.

"Sir?" Her voice sounded almost as light and helpless as her sister's often did.

"Mrs. Bingley, may I - have the honor of your presence - for one moment - for one, last moment."

He did not dare spare a glance at Bingley. How  _was_  a man to respond to his friend speaking so intimately to his wife?

 _Bride_  - Darcy repeated and hoped. They had not completed; he himself had not completed.

Elizabeth gaze strengthened, the initial fear gradually replaced by curiosity and power. She did not look at Bingley, though she clearly spoke to him.

"Mr. Bingley, allow me to be excused."

* * *

Her heart thundered in her ears, roaring and afire. What Fitzwilliam planned, she did not know - but anything was to be preferred to the stifling torture of professing unowned affections so publicly.

She trailed behind him when they reached the door, and she wondered what degree of premeditation must have armed him with the knowledge of this side entrance. His solemn, quiet demeanor brooked no argument; so she offered none.

Fall twilights had not the protraction of their summer counterparts, leaving the two companions in relative darkness once they reached the small alcove.

"Mr. Darcy?" She whispered lowly when he stopped, his back rigid and proud. Her own feet halted a yard behind his.

She watched, as carefully as she could in the fast-dimming light, how his frame lifted, then dropped, as if heaving a heavy sigh. Her own eyes stung, unexplained.

Jane's letter, arrived so hurriedly this afternoon, flickered in her mind.

 _My Dear Elizabeth_ ,

The trembling handwriting had seeped through to every letter.

_As the confirmation of our happiness draws near, may your heart be ever joyful in your circumstances. May your vibrant nature be your husband's greatest source of joy. May forgiveness in your heart abound for your sister's choices._

_With love,  
Jane_

A sniffle escaped Elizabeth unbidden. Why else would Jane ask forgiveness - if not for attaching herself to the man Elizabeth loved most?

"Elizabeth!"

The impassioned pronouncement of her name bid her to look up - and find herself crushed in Fitzwilliam's arms, his face buried in her hair.

"Elizabeth - I cannot. Please - do not make me - "

His latter words sounded nearly tearful. She struggled to blink away the onslaught of fluid in her own eyes.

"Elizabeth," he cried again, pressing her closer still.

She trembled as her hands slipped around his person. Her face, she pressed against his jaw.

"Mr. Darcy - "

"No! No." He pulled back, hands gripping her shoulders. His eyes looked nearly rabid. "I  _refuse_  to be a man so foreign to you."

The tears fell, over cheeks and lips and clothes. Her hands clung tightly on his waist.

"Elizabeth, shall we elope? Let us to Scotland this very night. Let me be the sole husband you shall ever know. Allow me your life, your love."

His face inched nearer even as he spoke, and all thought nearly escaped her.

"Forget Bingley, forget Jane. Georgiana shall survive the scandal. Let us be - "

"Fitzwilliam," her one word withered between them.

"I am convinced of the ardency of our feelings - whatever else shall matter? The system proves true for many, but it ruins others just the same. I  _cannot_  confirm my vows to a woman I barely know. There can be no room for - "

"Fitzwilliam!"

"I cannot bear to see you unhappy - and why should we persist in such agony when our union could banish all pain? Your sister, I am sure, cares little for her current title. She may be - "

"Fitzwilliam!" Her voice had turned pleading, and he stopped for one moment.

The words exchanged between their eyes flowed hundreds and thousands of pages long. The silence itself quivered within the confines of their frail privacy.

"You do not wish it," said he, eyes blinking furiously. He pulled back, nearly dropping her on the ground. "You do not love me - and you do not wish to risk it all for our chance at happiness."

"No, Fitzwilliam, I do not - "

"You do not, you see?" Hints of mania began to appear in his voice. He stepped back blindly, almost crashing into the bushes. "You do not care. You prefer Bingley, prefer Brigham Park. You prefer - "

"I prefer you!" Elizabeth cried, every part of her flaring in anger. Her fists clenched the fabric of her gown. "I prefer  _you_ , Fitzwilliam - every single day, every single moment. Your company and intelligence and love are  _everything_  I could ever have hoped for - and everything I wish to own with every fiber of my being."

He looked back at her, eyes wide. Both their pants echoed between them.

He did not speak again until he'd righted himself and wandered forward, until his face hovered two inches from hers.

His next words were soft, pleading, uncertain. "Then why?"

The heart that had thundered in her ears just moments before - now hung heavy on her chest and soul.

"Elizabeth?"

"I prefer you," she repeated, cracks in her voice. Her tongue felt trapped in her mouth. Every word took herculean effort. "But so does Jane."

The shock in Darcy's eyes looked sincere in every way.

"And I refuse to hurt my sister."

She knew, felt his disappointment.

But he did not pull away.

"Elizabeth," he whispered, before planting a kiss on her brow.

She cried into his coat, thinking little of the consequences. They had exited the meeting house in plain sight - and risked exposure with every additional minute shared. Their resolved avoidance of scandal reflected little in their actions.

But she did not care.

Resting against the safety of Darcy's expansive chest, Elizabeth almost  _wished_  that someone would discover them - that, perchance, they may have their happy ending after all without disrespecting her sister.

A woman untouched could still remarry - right?

"Elizabeth," his whispers grew soft, and she knew the end was nigh.

She was the first to pull back her head until she met his eyes again. His arms still around her, she hesitated little, before pressing her lips against his.

He welcomed her kiss immediately, hands wandering to her jaw and hip. She reciprocated every caress as she pushed up on her tiptoes. The top of his tongue grazed her lips, and she opened them immediately. With only the darkening trees as their walls, their embrace could not grow quite as heated as their encounter in Brigham Park's library - but the sorrow and the pain made this one no less memorable and keen.

It did not suffice to merely kiss him, but it was all that she could do tonight.

* * *

"You are - well, I suppose?" His plea sounded hollow to his own ears. His manly hands held Jane's slender one as delicately as he could, unable to render evidence of the depth of his affection.

He'd both waited and dreaded to see her all day - while chasing after her shadows. Caroline had often lamented that she had no finery suitable for her imaginary second Meeting, when all eyes would admire the lovely husbands and wives as they confirmed their passionate love for one another. Bingley had braced himself to encounter a dazzling Mrs. Jane Darcy adorning his best friend's arm. He'd planned for the jealousy and admiration and pain.

He had not planned to behold the withering frame he now watched with care.

"Jane," he whispered, hoping at least that any who overheard would attribute their familiarity to their familial bond, "please - answer me. Are you well?"

Her face, pale as alabaster, held no color today - and her lips nearly matched the pale blue of her gown.

"Jane."

"Charles," she whispered, letters blurred, before lifting her clearly-dropping eyelids. She held his hands with both her own. "Charles."

"Jane," he said again, all other words failing. The coldness of her palms offered him no comfort. "Jane - you are ill."

"Only slightly." Her weak smile denied her own words. Her clinging to his hands was feeble and raw. "Are  _you_ well?"

Her concern, so softly proffered, tore at his heart. He had always admired ladies quite easily and freely before - and thus had never begrudged the system. Surely, any lady brought to him at the exchange would win his heart most thoroughly.

He had been right on that score - though mistaken about what followed.

"Shall we really proceed?" Bingley's voice cracked, shaky and uneven. "Shall we succumb so willingly to the cards the gods have dealt?"

"Charles." Her voice carried reprimand, strong amidst her weakness. "We ought not to complain."

Tears assaulted his eyes as his heart split in two. Her virtue was beyond reproach, tragically so.

"Jane!" He stood closer, nearly touching her. "We need not submit so easily. Your aunt, our matchmaker - could she not amend her pairings as she had done before?"

"I would not dare." A solitary tear slipped down her cheek. Oh how he longed to wipe it away!

"Shall we allow our fears to hinder our happiness?"

"I do not fear," she replied, voice stronger.

"Jane - "

"I choose to stay."

"Stay? Derbyshire shall still remain your home, dear Jane. I cannot fathom a life without you."

"You shall not have to." Another tear escaped her just as Bingley began to note the seeming resignation in her voice. "You shall always be in my life, Charles."

His heart wondered whether or not to mend. Had he succeeded in convincing her at last of her aunt's influence? He himself may be to blame for so haphazardly requesting which sister be paired to which man - but surely Mrs. Gardiner's sway with the Constable could urge the authority to consider  _her_  wisdom, if not his?

Was the initial mismatch even a true mistake?

Could not the rights offered to every new couple be granted to them today? Did  _they_ \- helpless pawns of humans that they were - have to pay the price for Mrs. Gardiner's carelessness and wrong?

"Say you will be, Jane," he whispered, heart contorted to a myriad shifting shapes.

"I shall  _always_ remain in your life, Charles."

He lifted their joint hands towards his lips. So deeply did he long to seal this promise.

"As your sister." The tears flooded her cheeks now, undeterred. "I shall always share your every care."

 _Sister_? Bingley stepped back, coldness coursing through his veins. Surely, she could not mean -

"I cannot ruin you - ruin us." The strength within her frailty overcame him.

His own eyes stinging, Bingley gently dropped the hands he held.

His two steps backwards on the wooden floor sounded as if they echoed throughout the universe. His heart, shattered, fell about him in a thousand blistering pieces. His lungs nearly refused to breath.

"I understand," he said simply - and looked away to face the crowds.

* * *

What had been a dizzy morning had fallen far too fast into an overwhelmingly night. It was by necessity that meetings be held in the evenings, that most of the town folks may bear witness. Today, of all days, Jane Bennet almost complained.

It had taxed her greatly to prepare for tonight - to resolve that she would see through her marriage with Mr. Darcy, that her sister may have the better man. If the confirmation had been slated for the morning, she would at least have had the rest of the day - and the rest of her life - to mourn. As it was, the event was conducted at night, and therefore provided her with plenty of hours to worry, fret, and falter.

"I understand," was Mr. Bingley's harsh and teary reply - and she thanked God that he had not seen her face then.

Her resolve had all but disappeared already.

A sniff escaped her as she stumbled slightly. Mr. Bingley, ever the gentleman, righted her fall - though without sparing another glance. She closed her eyes as the reality she had chosen came crashing over her in all its weight.

She would see Elizabeth happy - she would  _always_ choose to see Elizabeth happy. If she had agreed to Charles' request, she would be jeopardizing the happiness of the one person she had cared for since the day she had been born. To suggest that the brides be switched again would be to condemn Elizabeth to a life with the dour, unfeeling Mr. Darcy. She, frankly, could never bring herself to such cruelty, especially against the sister she most knew and loved.

A rustling began in the far end of the room - couples parting and moving, though never from each other. Her increasingly blurry vision yielded little detail, but even the humming in her ears could not mute the voice she recognized so well.

"Shall we ready ourselves, most lovely people!" Aunt Gardiner's soprano rang loud and clear. "Gather with your matchmakers, please - and take your stands by the candles."

Bustling, chattering, giggling couples all glided to their respective positions. She - alone and ironically accompanied - remained in her place.

"Jane, my dear! How are  _you_?" Aunt Gardiner, glistening in her best matchmaking garb, approached her then.

It was horrific trying not to cry, and her aunt's matronly hands on her shoulders aided her effort little.

"Aunt Gardiner - " The plea came, though its contents would not.

What was she to say, after all? How could she inform her most beloved aunt of how she'd done so well - and then so badly?

The only comfort, if there was any, was a grander chance at Elizabeth's joy.

"Aunt Gardiner." Jane lowered herself to hug her aunt, arms clinging desperately against the older lady's shoulders. Her tears fell against the draper's best fabrics, and she wondered if the busy matchmaker noticed at all.

"Now, now, dear - it is quite normal to feel a rush of sentiments." She felt Aunt Gardiner's generous pats on her back before they parted. "I must say my nieces make the most handsome wives."

Being the sole niece present at the moment only served to choke Jane's words even further. The room, stuffy before, now felt suffocating.

"Aunt Gardiner - "

"Where is Elizabeth?" There was a keenness in the lady's eyes - a sharp observation of something that Jane knew herself to be missing. "Mr. Bingley is present - what of her?"

It was quite fortunate that Charles decided to abandon his short-lived coldness then.

"I am afraid she is sharing a private audience - with Mr. Darcy." Mr. Bingley swallowed loud enough for the sound to pierce her whirling senses. "Is something the matter?"

"The matter? Why, yes, of course - " Aunt Gardiner stopped short, as if thinking whether or not to proceed. Her next words escaped her slowly. "Surely,  _every_  couple longs to confirm their heartfelt vows and cannot bear to be apart. Is that right - Mr. Bingley?"

Jane stepped back, looked away. She could not bear, could not brave the reality of hearing -

"I am sure any vows - if heartfelt - would be amorously spoken." His words surprised her. Her perception blurred, then clarified, then blurred again. "It all depends on the speaker, Mrs. Gardiner."

"I am not sure I understand what you mean, sir."

"I am sure that you do - completely."

The uncommon courage in Charles' words lifted Jane's spirit unexpectedly. She felt joy, pride in his words. He was kind, yet firm; wise, yet courteous. A man of such caliber was a treasure to keep. Could she truly allow him  _not_  to find his heart's desire? Could she be permitted such selfish thoughts towards her sister, admitting at last that the desires of the man she loved proved a higher calling?

"Aunt Gardiner," Jane begun.

"Aunt Gardiner." A panting Elizabeth appeared - a grouchy Mr. Darcy in tow. "I'm sorry. Time eluded me, I - "

Elizabeth panted as she held their aunt at arms' length. Her face seemed particularly flushed in the candlelight. The room swirled, the faces blended.

Jane barely stayed upright enough to take her place, a trembling mess, and face a dark-faced Mr. Darcy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost there! Really, almost there! I hope you guys enjoyed this insight into everyone's very flawed logic. The actual ceremony starts (or does it?) in the next chapter. Frankly, the men persuaded me at this point that they wanted to do something about it. It's the martyr-like sisters who refused. Thank you so much for reading!


	11. Chapter 11

"Shall we commence?"

The tentative look on Mrs. Gardiner only spurred his ire to greater heights. What woman could so knowingly condemn her own nieces to certain lifelong misery? How could a woman he'd esteemed at first sight spiral so quickly to the depths of his disdain?

"Mr. Darcy, shall you take your place?"

He looked up to see the object of his anger - deserved or otherwise - directing him to adjust his stance to more fully face his bride, rather than Bingley's. Unwillingly, he tore his eyes from Elizabeth's downcast form and turned to face a pale, withering Jane. How the two could possibly be sisters was a mystery he would never decipher.

"In the presence of God and man, we gather here tonight in joyful celebration," Mrs. Gardiner began in words clearly not her own. "It is with hope and with gladness that we uplift these couples to His holy care - that He who saved us from the darkness of sin may preserve them with love and mercy for the duration of their earthly lives."

Darcy had always considered himself a man devout, but tonight's words nearly drove him to nausea. The room darkened and spun. His lungs failed to sustain him. His frown, he knew, could be perceived a mile away.

With the feeling of Elizabeth still fresh in his arms, he found his throat tightening almost to the point of death. These vows, these proclamations - meant nothing in the light of his farce of a marriage. Could not the women's aunt see their own discontent? Could not Elizabeth prove with her words - as she had almost done - that the uniqueness of their situation warranted a relaxed observation of the system?

"As we gather together to witness the confirmation of their happiness, let us hear from each individual their words of love and promise," Mrs. Gardiner recited on - and Darcy nearly socked the woman herself.

The room both bustled and hushed at the invitation for the couples to speak. Despite their arranged encounters, couples who did remain together until their second Meeting often cared most deeply and passionately for one another - and often vowed most beautifully. He may never have witnessed such moments himself, but Darcy's friends had told him as much and built his expectations for this special night.

He had never thought he would stand on this momentous evening before a woman he disliked - a woman so bland he would never have noticed her absence. He  _had_  thought that he would already have found love by this hour - though perhaps towards the woman he faced, rather than the woman who's back aligned with his - whose gown's edge brushed tantalizingly against the soles of his boots - whose very existence drove him to madness.

Darcy shut his eyes as the happy sighs and whimpers rose in volume, emanating from scattered pockets and corners of people. He could not hear if Bingley spoke to Elizabeth - though he doubted his fair-haired friend would ever find words sufficient to describe the wonder that she was. He did not know if his neighbor truly understood the grace that Providence had given him, by granting Elizabeth Bennet as his bride. He knew that he, deafened by his loud and mourning heart, heard nothing.

And he knew he was not about to say another word either.

"Mr. Darcy?" Mrs. Gardiner prompted, concern in her voice. "Shall you not pledge your love for your wife?"

Wife - bride - the words swirled in his mind. He opened his eyes slowly, afraid of reality for the first time in his tenacious life. What was he to say to the anxious matchmaker? Would it be acceptable to insult her niece - if he had only the highest praise for another?

"Mr. Darcy?"

He flinched as if burnt when he felt the older lady's hand upon his arm. Fitzwilliam Darcy was not a man to be forced, and he was keen to prove that fact to her.

He felt Elizabeth shuffle behind him, turning as if to face away from her groom. The gesture charged his heart with a gladness that he could not dare deny. The thought that she might have changed her mind – and might consider deserting her groom for him – shed light into his poor, tired soul.

He longed to turn, to see her, to grasp her, to embrace her as if the world ended then. The young man inside him that had endured loss and disappointment, hope and then despair, awakened with desperate passion. He had always lived for duty – always acted upon the choice he knew to be wisest, regardless of his personal desires.

One sidelong glance at a blank-faced Jane triggered every fear that he had ever possessed over the dangers of duty and honor. Every choice he had ever made, every moment of hardened resolution – from Wickham to Ramsgate to Lady Catherine de Bourgh – haunted him with vivid recollection. Poor choices, made in the name of duty and honor, taunted him with their consequences.

Was he to make another such choice today – a choice that would shackle him away from hope and happiness, for the rest of his living days?

"Mrs. Gardiner!" He spoke sharply, loudly – interrupting whatever the lady had been about to say. "Mrs. Gardiner – I can't."

Elizabeth stilled, her fingers dangling between their bodies, halfway turned. He drew courage from her proximity.

"It is not for me to vow love I do not possess," Darcy spoke with measured serenity. No one who heard him, he prayed, could doubt the sincerity behind his words. "I cannot state promises I do not intend to keep."

Small gasps surrounded him. He comforted himself with the fact that Elizabeth did not share said reaction.

"Are you unsure of your confirmation, Mr. Darcy?" The matchmaker's question came with pointed look and questioning eyes.

He met them, straightforward. "Yes."

"And what do you suggest we do, sir?"

"I do not know."

He did not know – did not think. He who had always prided himself for his calmness and direction had acted purely on impulse tonight. He knew what he wanted – and what he did not.

He did not know how he was to gain one and avoid the other.

Then he knew, suddenly, that Elizabeth's fingers were reaching for his – and he quickly grasped them in return.

"I have lived for duty and honor and other people's happiness my entire life, Mrs. Gardiner," the words came now, unrelenting. "I refuse to allow such reservations to rule my sham of a marriage as well."

The gasps reappeared. He continued.

"I cannot confirm vows I do not mean – however flowery or expected of me they may be. I cannot confirm the existence of a marriage that does not. I  _refuse_  – to confirm lifelong devotion to one woman, when I am in love with another."

"Mr. Darcy – "

He turned away from the wide-eyed matchmaker, to face his wide-eyed love. Their joined hands dangled openly between them – and he was determined to have his way tonight.

"Forgive me, Elizabeth," he whispered underneath the shrieks and cries surrounding them.

Her eyes, stalwart, told him there was nothing to forgive.

* * *

She tried to smile, tried to manifest an outward expression of the overflowing emotions in her heart. Unlike the privacy of their alcove, however, this crowd failed to evoke those selfsame sentiments.

"Fitzwilliam," she whispered, her other hand fleeing her side to cover their joint ones. There was hope, courage, and pride in his eyes. There was love, warmth, and promise in his hands. This was -  _he_  was - the man she needed to marry.

Why did she ever think she could survive living with another one?

No sisterly nobility was worth his destruction. No kindness or self-sacrifice could be made worthwhile by driving his happiness to its grave.

_He_  was her foremost priority.

She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came. She inhaled, heart swelling, but failed to translate her joy and excitement to action. What words, after all, could be adequate to capture this moment - this horrific yet wonderful beginning to their life?

Her eyes met Fitzwilliam's and their overflowing promise. Was a scandal the only way to ensure a possibility of their happiness?

"Jane!"

A loud cry from behind her broke her daydreams, and she spun around immediately - hands still entwined with her lover's.

"Mr. Bingley?" She could not help sputtering at the now-empty spot her groom had previously occupied. The way she stood, body turned away from her designated spot, mouth agape at her absent groom, was nearly comical - tempered only in humor by the gravity of Darcy's claims.

"Elizabeth," the loud, low, matronly whisper to her side did not come from either man occupying her mind.

"Aunt Gardiner." It was a voice she knew well, nonetheless; and she turned to face it reluctantly.

"Elizabeth, darling, are you  _sure_?"

The lack of condemnation surprised her, but Elizabeth still flinched involuntarily.

"Elizabeth."

"Sure?" She studied her aunt's face, a face slowly growing into focus after her recent whir of emotions had temporary blinded her to any sight but the shape of Fitzwilliam Darcy. Elizabeth blinked, then sighed. "I am - sure. I am."

_What_  she was ascertaining seemed only to be a hint of a blur in her mind.

"Your sister," Fitzwilliam's low voice beckoned - and her eyes wander up towards his face. "You are  _certain_ , Elizabeth?"

Her name, under the caress of his voice, rendered all protestation moot.

"Yes." She knew not what she agreed to - knew not if she would ever be granted entry to society itself. She knew not if her sister would ever forgive her. Was this a pledge of marriage - a promise to elope as he had asked? Was this a promise to try, however long and difficult the process may be, to make that impossible future a reality? Was this -

"Jane!" Mr. Bingley's second cry could not be ignored - and Elizabeth's eyes travelled off her lover's face to her sister's fallen figure. The gasp she emitted was everything true.

"Jane!" Elizabeth cried herself, stepping forward towards the pale, limp creature that had replaced the cheerful sister she had known all her life. Darcy's hands, encasing hers, were her only deterrent. "Jane, are you well? Are you - "

"Jane, my Jane, my darling Jane." The other man in this mixture of marriage was already at the older sister's side. His hands on her back and arm guided her to stand partially, the brunt of her weight on his shoulders. The sight they composed - the kindly man and the jilted woman - drew the clear sympathy of every spectator surrounding them. The sighs and frowns, absent when Darcy had made  _his_  declaration, now generously permeated every face within two yards.

The knot in Elizabeth's chest grew.

* * *

"Jane, my Jane, my darling Jane."

His hands could not wrap tightly enough around her waist, nor his lips kiss her brow enough. Her gentle figure, graceful and lithe, now lay limp against his arms and chest. He hardly breathed when she could not. His strength, suddenly surging, was mostly spent supporting them both on their feet.

"Jane," he whispered, tears in his eyes. She had declined his offer, had broken his heart with a few, simple words. He had wanted to try, had been  _willing_  to try. The Charles Bingley who had lived under the direction of his sisters all his life had been willing, for once, to replace kindness with courage in pursuit of his heart.

The owner of his heart simply happened to be the most selfless person he had ever met and known.

"Jane." Tears flowed unbidden now as he pressed another kiss against her temple.

Memories of their tentative embraces in Brigham Park's garden - haunting his dreams - felt distinctively real yet ambiguous tonight under the pressing weight of current reality. He had gone through phase after phase after that night - from happiness to guilt to pride to joy to more guilt and then to purpose. He almost convinced himself, under her pledges of kindness tonight, that they would survive merely sharing their love as brother and sister - as friend to friend.

Her pallor the very moment Darcy began his declaration wiped all other thought from his mind.

She needed him, and he refused to disappoint.

"Jane, my love, my darling - what I have I done?" The words of his heart found their way repeatedly to his lips. "Why have I - why did I - "

His own sniffs and sobs were the only threats to his fluency.

"Charles," she whispered faintly, and every nerve in his being rushed to her care.

"Jane, Jane!" He turned her in his arms until she faced him. "Jane - please, be well - do not fret. I shall have you. I shall love you."

His right hand found its way to her cheek, his left still supporting her waist. His unmanly sobbing would not cease.

"Jane - stay, please. Be well. I cannot bear this life without you."

"Charles - "

"I love you." He kissed her brow before placing her head on his shoulder. The delicacy of her frame left plenty of space in his arms, and he tightened his grip until there was none. "Jane, do not suffer. I disallow it. If heaven had granted - oh, if we only had - if the very first of that exchange had been true. If we - oh, Jane - if we had shared those first two weeks the way we should have."

He cried openly against her hair. Touches of her weak fingers pressed against his coat.

"Your sister can never compare with you," he mumbled, heart breaking. His hand on her neck pressed her tightly against his chest. "If she had but  _one-eighth_  of your goodness, tonight would never have happened. Tonight - oh, Jane, Jane, my love - oh, what have I done?"

He felt, more than heard, the suddenly roaring reactions. Tears muddled his eyes from perceiving the actions around him.

It did not matter.

Jane was here, in his arms.

He was not about to let go.

* * *

"Elizabeth," he whispered, his voice as low and intense as his heavy heart felt. He pulled her closer, caring little for propriety. It was a propriety, after all, that had doomed the four of them to tonight's tragic circumstance.

"Fitzwilliam." She sniffed, face against his chest, and he knew the words that Bingley declared hurt her still.

What sort of man would insult his bride so openly - would ruin the woman who had chosen to stay with him with such open inconsideration?

It barely escaped him that the words describing Bingley described himself just as much.

Darcy blinked, rapidly.

Bingley's words, vowed with ardor, had turned the tables as quickly as a wildfire would tinge a dry, summer forest. The surrounding eyes that had condemned the two pairs but a moment ago now gazed upon Bingley and Jane with soulful compassion. Unrequited love - punished when intentional - was romantic to the utmost when unwittingly compelled. It was clear, even now, that the village crowds believed the love between him and Elizabeth to be the root cause of the suffering between the two faltering individuals standing right before him. His love was condemned; Bingley's encouraged.

It was most fortunate that Georgiana and Miss Bingley had not chosen to come tonight. He could not bear his sister's censure, had it come.

"I am sorry," he whispered, helpless and broken. He was not sorry for declaring what he thought, not sorry for allowing his heart to guide his hand tonight. He  _was_  sorry, beyond words, for inflicting pain upon the two people he loved best in this room - a trembling Elizabeth, and a crying Charles.

"Jane, oh Jane, please - be well," Bingley's pleas persisted despite the rampant gossip clearly beginning to be shared around them.

Darcy did not know what those gossips believed - whom they cast as their sympathetic heroes.

He only wished Elizabeth agreed with him.

"I'm sorry," he said again before pressing her tightly against him. The embrace was pure scandal, impossible to condone beyond a husband and wife's own chambers. It would be widely considered inappropriate to even entwine his fingers with Elizabeth's. Entwining limbs was, beyond doubt, an act of grave indiscretion.

He hoped she did not mind.

"Fitzwilliam." She sobbed again, her own hands twisting tightly around his waist. He knew her embarrassment, witnessed it himself. The courage glimmering from her eyes the first moment their hands had joint in public tonight had long melted into fear and mortification. How could she not feel betrayed and hurt - when Bingley insulted her so?

He almost sneaked a peek at the other Miss Bennet at the disquieting thought that he had hurt her just as much, if not more.

"Jane, Lizzy - are you  _certain_?" Mrs. Gardiner - cursed woman - was talking to her nieces again.

Could she not see how thoroughly indisposed each lady already was?

"I'm sorry," Elizabeth mumbled against his chest. His heart and shoulders shuddered, fearing her regret. "Please, allow me."

He let her go reluctantly, one hand still clinging to her arm. Elizabeth, thank God, did not shake his grip away.

"Aunt Gardiner," the voice of the witty and wise Elizabeth began to reemerge, "have you  _anything_  to tell us if we are? You ask - but you do not do."

It was obvious to Darcy then that he was not the lone person in these pairings to begrudge the draper's wife.

"Elizabeth - "

"Please - do  _something._ " Elizabeth's cry rose above the murmur of the crowds. "You assign - you switch - you torture - you pain."

Darcy felt her fingers tighten on his forearm.

"Aunt, please - if you wishing to have us confirm our heart's desire merely to cruelly snatch it away - then, I pray you, do not ask. Do not taunt. Do not hurt." Elizabeth's voice burned bright and fiery. "I have wondered, often, how my wonderful aunt could have done what she did."

Darcy could not tell if the room fell silent for truth. His ears - and heart - hung on her every word.

"Was it on purpose, Aunt?" Elizabeth continued - demanding, lost, angry. "Did you - with full knowledge - ignore your clients' requests that you may cause your nieces' happiness?"

The new possibility shook every principle in his mind.

"Did you - then, perhaps afraid or angry or remorseful - chose  _afterwards_  to undo your actions and ruin whatever happiness we  _had_ already found?"

Elizabeth's voice, high and distant, reverberated as if it belonged to a goddess - a very angry goddess.

"Aunt Gardiner, please - I need to know! Jane and I and our tears and pain and lies to each other - how  _could_ you have allowed it? Our beloved aunt, you - "

"Enough!" Mrs. Gardiner bellowed, pulling herself to the tallest yet. The crowds, and the couples, fixed their eyes upon her small form. Darcy nearly felt compassion for the  _other_  couples tonight, whose romantic evening was in the process of being vividly and thoroughly sullied. " _I_ shall bring you four to the Constable himself.  _He_  shall decide what we make of you."

Darcy, Bingley, Elizabeth, and Jane each held their tongue.

"Come along, let us go - before Elizabeth insults me to my face again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, despite all the drama, things happen. I'm sorry for the 12 out of 10 angst level here. There's a reason this chapter took months to write. I hope it's an uplifting turn towards the happy endings ahead!


	12. Chapter 12

It was a different room this time. Gone was the intimate, candlelit space of the initial exchange. Gone was the publicity of the meeting house. Here, tucked away at the back of it all, was the Constable's court.

Her heartbeat, frantic and uneven, nearly drowned out Aunt Gardiner's voice. Her heightened peripheral consciousness caused her to hear at least every other word Aunt Gardiner whispered to the Constable - her story peppered with fragmented descriptions of their unique situation.

The thankful half of her heart relished the opportunity to meet the Constable at all; the bitter half protested that this entire meeting would have been rendered unnecessary, if Aunt Gardiner had not made her mistake at all.

Fitzwilliam's hand gripped hers, and she relented slightly. It was their matchmaker's actions that led them to each other - and  _that_  was a fact she would never despise.

"A switch, you say, madame?" The Constable, groggy and limp on his chaise, seemed to have heard but three words on the entire ordeal.

"It seems to be a possible solution," Aunt Gardiner replied, her back to the couples.

Jane barely stood at her place, and remained mostly upright only by the way she splayed upon Mr. Bingley's chest. It was scandalous, most thoroughly, the way she clung to her former groom - particularly since said groom reciprocated with an embrace three times tighter than hers. Elizabeth wondered, only fleetingly, if she would act in a similar fashion if she also had swooning spells to profess.

"All will be well," Fitzwilliam whispered by her ear. Her entire being warmed, comforted by his easy confidence.

His confidence was, of course, unfounded, having no reason whatsoever upon which to stand.

And yet she hoped, with all her heart, that he was correct.

" _Whose_  bride?" The Constable's gruff, slurred voice hinted at slightly more comprehension than he'd possessed the previous moment.

Elizabeth sighed. Fitzwilliam stood closer.

Almost suddenly, she wished she had her own excuses for casting herself upon his person.

"So each man has had his chance with not one, but  _both_  women?" Illumination seemed to dawn upon the fat, delirious man at last, though with its own dose of stupefaction. "Is this the sort of arrangement where two men indulge each other's wives upon occasion? All that sort of nonsense may well be - "

"No!" Fitzwilliam was quick to protest, when it became clear that Aunt Gardiner would not. Elizabeth drew closer to him still. "I swear, by the love of God, I have not even touched - "

"Yes, yes, well, it's all bloody good and proper then, eh?" Despite his authority, the Constable acted with little of it, giggling as he spoke, "With two such scowling faces, 'tis not surprising you men aren't charmed."

Fitzwilliam moved forward again, fists clenched. Elizabeth's anger, barely controlled, resulted at least in a stronger grip to draw him back.

"Well, well, let's not be so hasty now, shall we?" Every laugh resulted in the rising and falling of the Constable's inflated belly. "If each of you dislike the woman you have so much, then you truly ought to have revoked sooner. It's all bloody messy when one waits until the second Meeting."

"We have not - " Elizabeth began alongside Fitzwilliam - before both their words fell empty.

Could they risk exposing Aunt Gardiner's mistake?

Would revealing said mistake help their cause at all?

She shuddered at the unwelcome thought of not having had her first two weeks with Fitzwilliam. Could she truly blame her aunt for inadvertently providing them to her?

It grieved Elizabeth, every time, when she recalled that it had been the men's own foolish words that had caused these entanglements to have occurred in the first place. It had been foolish of Bingley and Darcy to speak so certainly of women they did not know.

But was four lifetimes of suffering a fair price to pay?

"Have not what?" the Constable asked, eyes now trained on her. It was perhaps uncommon for a woman to be as outspoken as she - but she had not thought her short outburst to warrant such attention.

She inhaled deeply, plotting every word - when the man she loved spoke instead.

* * *

"I dare not speak for my friend and bride," Darcy spoke every word with calculated command, "But I have never even entered Miss Bennet's chambers nor touched her in any way inappropriate between individuals in public. The title she has held for the six weeks past has been in word alone with little truth. Miss Bennet - is not my wife."

"Miss Bennet, you say?" The incompetent fool of a Constable mumbled on his elevated platform. If he had but the right, how Darcy longed to sack the man to his senses! "Which one, you see, since it is a delicate matter tonight, of all nights."

Darcy sighed under his breath. Elizabeth clung still on his arm, and her raging emotions fueled his.

Yet, still, remain calm they must.

To his right, a flushed Bingley continued to shuffle in his spot, clearly struggling to support Miss Bennet's weight. The woman, whatever title she may bear, had clearly gone cold.

Darcy found but little room in his heart left for pity tonight.

"Miss Jane Bennet - has stayed in Pemberley these weeks," he spoke with difficulty, unwilling yet required to explain himself to this officer of the law. "She has born the title of Mrs. Darcy only in name."

"And you, sir?" The Constable turned his nose towards the other pair.

"Me? Sir? Me - oh, Jane, darling - I have to, please forgive me. I did not mean to - "

"Mr. Bingley," the pudgy man repeated, "have  _you_  had the opportunity to complete with your wife? Is tonight's fiasco a mere reaction to an unhappy roll in the hay? One must say - "

"Sir!" Darcy cried, angry once more. How  _could_ the man speak as he did, in the very presence of the ladies he discussed? "Your assumptions, sir, are entirely unfair. This whole circumstance has proven - "

"I have not!" Bingley cried, straightening to the best of his ability with the weight on his chest. Darcy felt Elizabeth draw closer, nearly pressing upon his person. He welcomed the touch. "Every word Darcy has sworn about Jane - I echo with regards to Elizabeth."

Darcy felt, rather than saw, Elizabeth's blush - and he quickly turned his body to hug her close.

"I find it rather hard to believe, sir." The Constable had the nerve to declare. "You see, virgins never exist at the second Meeting. Such close quarters and such long days - you would have me believe these pairings unconsummated?"

"Yes," all three lucid individuals were quick to reply.

"And these two ladies - sisters, you say - remain untouched?"

"Yes," all said again.

"No kisses, no dalliance, no wandering hands?"

"Sir! I beg your pardon, you speak of - " Darcy's own words faltered. His denial of any such conduct between himself and Jane may be every word true.

He could not, however, promise the same regarding the woman in his arms tonight.

He held Elizabeth close, heart breaking at the possibility of any wrongdoing being attributed to her. With their current hearing, it was highly possible that their mismatched pairings might be dissolved.

Whether or not they would be permitted to pursue friendships - nay, relationships - with their hearts' true loves remained to be seen.

Would Elizabeth be taken away from him and from Bingley alike - only to be paired to another man?

His heart nearly rented in two at the devastating thought, but still he swore himself to lifelong celibacy - if her kisses in the lake, library, and garden were to be the only ones he would ever have known.

"Mr. Constable," Bingley began to say behind him. Darcy turned slightly to hear. "Would a restoration to our initial exchange be permitted - since there has been no completion?"

"No completion," the large man muttered. Darcy's heart nearly skipped beats.

"Sir, our testimonies are of accord. Darcy and I, Jane and Elizabeth - we have done  _nothing_ of reproach. Our behavior has - "

Bingley stopped when Darcy met his eye.

For two, long, revelatory moments, the best of friends searched each other's thoughts in total silence. There had been no consummation, no physical union of any sort between the couples formally. But had there been of other kinds? With sudden epiphany, Darcy noted the panic and guilt, then confidence and fierce intent that pervaded Bingley's eyes. He knew, they both knew, they had not used their own brides ill.

None of their carefully-selected words, however, alluded to  _another_  man's bride.

Had Bingley and Jane known passions akin to the ones shared between him and Elizabeth? Had they done less - or more? Had there been moments when he, unguarded, had indulged in his own emotions without noticing similar activity in the lives so close around his?

The thought brought anger and guilt.

Then it brought relief.

"Sir," Darcy turned towards the Constable - Elizabeth in his arms and heart. His voice filled with hope, strength. "I request, most respectfully, that Mr. Bingley's words be honored. There shall be no resolution acceptable, sir, save the one we have proposed."

"A request to separate two couples - that the individuals therein may be united to others?" The Constable scoffed. "Why, the thought is unheard of! This is not a first Meeting, with rights and contracts, sir. This meeting is your  _second_. Are we to sully the ladies' reputation and treat them as women no better than whores?"

"Sir! Your language begs correction! There is no scenario - "

"To take two men's wives and switch them for the other? I fail to see how your professions alone lend just cause to tearing such couples apart."

"No, sir!" Elizabeth spoke then, livid and focused. Darcy, and perhaps everyone else. looked at the woman with quiet awe. Her resolute gaze fixed firmly upon the bumbling Constable. "We do not ask that you dissolve the couples before you."

* * *

She felt all eyes instantly on her person. Where Fitzwilliam's gaze worried and hoped, Mr. Bingley's wondered and pleaded. Aunt Gardiner herself remained frozen in place, rapt in attention. The Constable's lazy eyes did not appear quite as lazy as they had before.

"Sir, with all due respect." She stepped forward slightly, her shoulders still encased in her lover's hands. She breathed slowly, spoke deliberately. "We do not ask that you do what you cannot do."

Fitzwilliam breathed in sharply. Her own heart struggled to still. The dull lighting of the room nearly turned grey by the sheer force of her determination.

"You cannot dissolve couples, sir, when they do not exist," she concluded, strength in every word. Her clenched fists trembled subtly by her sides. Her breath, warm inside her, blew through her lips as cold as if exhaled upon a wintry morning. "Four individuals stand before you - none fully attached to another. There is nothing to dissolve, sir."

"You would have me believe the ladies would correlate the men's claims?"

"Every word." She stood tall against unexpected adversary. "No completion, consummation, or intimacy of any kind has been exchanged between each ill-fated bride and groom. Mere words have been limited. How could one refer to such empty unions as coupledom of any kind?"

The Constable paused before nodding - slowly then sagely. Bated breaths abounded.

"Mrs. Gardiner - have you much to say?" The old man, sprawled atop his flattened chaise, asked without turning his gaze. "You brought these individuals together, and you restored them each according to the names upon the contracts. Do you condone this bewilderment - this request for another switch?"

"I - I dare not presume, sir." Aunt Gardiner, for the first time in Elizabeth's young life, put on an appearance of shame. "The need to rectify my own mistake had clearly resulted in further turmoil for all parties involved. I dare not assume ability to discern what arrangements would improve their current predicaments."

"Then you should do as we have said," Fitzwilliam spoke then, moving forward with Elizabeth in tow. His voice carried a hint of hope renewed. "Mrs. Gardiner herself professes her lack of knowledge. Mr. Bingley and I - Elizabeth and Jane - we stand before you, sir, with but one request."

" _One_ request?" The Constable both laughed and scoffed. "I could hardly call your petition - "

"One simple word, sir - and you ensure the happiness of all parties," Elizabeth pleaded.

"And this is no request of skittish, fickle minds?" The man queried, openly considering at least. "Your actions, unspurred until the very night of your confirmation, begs the question clearly. If I were to permit this  _switch_ , shall I not be requested to meet the same four individuals a fortnight hence - all entreating me to allow their escape from their new confines?"

"No!" The three fully-conscious individuals, one still carrying an unconscious one, cried all at the very same moment.

"There are no exchanges planned until the following season," the Constable continued, "any permission I grant shall have to be tightly guarded in secrecy, lest more unhappy couples make excuses of their farcical marriages."

"Yes, sir."

"I grant my permission with one, sole condition - that this new arrangement be treated as if it were the foremost of new exchanges. Every individual in the exchange, regardless of gender, may choose to revoke the pairing upon the new first Meeting - which we shall stage in this very room a fortnight hence. The alternative to revoke or to maintain remains the sole right of every couple until then - unless, of course, they have  _completed_."

"Yes, sir." The unison voices grew slightly softer.

The Constable nodded, all groggy eyes and layered chins. Elizabeth thought her heart ready to burst into flames in a mere ten seconds.

"Very well." The man inhaled deeply - then proceeded to recite the age-old words, "Please - direct yourselves to your partners wholeheartedly, observe and care. May your hearts and persons be open and honest to the discovery of how your fates entwine."

Elizabeth's feet nearly buckled beneath her, all strength lost in this onslaught happiness.

"You may take your new brides home, good sirs. I shall see you all a fortnight hence."

* * *

The sudden streak of emotions inside him - thrill, disbelief, shock, elation - both warmed and chilled him within the stifling confines of the Constable's court. Darcy, Elizabeth in his arms, could barely breathe.

"He said yes," Elizabeth whispered against his collar.

He nodded mutely, pulling her closer still. Her arguments had been their final plea - her words their salvation. What the Constable found skeptical in men, he believed in women - and his beloved's testimony had dealt the final blow.

He could hardly believe their good fortune.

Dying noises from the other side of the wooden walls indicated a fast-dissipating crowd. The sighs of admiration and the gasps over scandal had, thank goodness, dwindled at last. The Constable himself had limped out the back door towards his own home. Only Darcy, Elizabeth, Bingley, Jane, and Mrs. Gardiner remained in the room - solidarity unharmed by their lack of solitude.

"Jane, we shall be home - together," Bingley whispered tenderly to the lady in  _his_  arms.

The tears in Darcy's eyes could be of empathy or relief. He frankly had no spare strength to decide upon which it was.

"We are blessed," Elizabeth whispered into his chest.

"Yes," Darcy cried, happy, "very much so."

They stood where they did, neither making move to depart. The passion both had injected into their arguments and proposals had been replaced by the reward of serenity. They panted, still, one against the other. Their hearts throbbed as wildly as they had before.

Many things remained the same.

Many things - the important ones - had been incredibly altered.

"Shall we go?" Darcy heard Bingley ask behind him.

It was clearly impossible for the new Mrs. Bingley to speak in her current state - but Darcy heard Mrs. Gardiner assist Bingley nonetheless.  _That_  permission - they clearly had.

It did not take long for the aunt and the conscious niece to mumble their strained goodbyes, and the Bingleys slipped out the room with their matchmaker.

Darcy cradled Elizabeth against his body, relishing their newfound solitude. She yielded willingly under his arms.

This was not the place for fiery displays of passion. He knew that fact well enough. They could wait. They had Pemberley, they had  _them,_ they had - oh the joys they would share in this chapter of new life!

The promise of a life with her - a life so far unlike what he had dreaded over when first coming to town tonight - filled him with hope and gladness. Bleak visions of a loveless future, of a pairing ill-conceived, disappeared from his mind like melting snow. He held spring in his arms tonight, and he was about to bring spring to his home.

"Elizabeth," he whispered reverently and pressed a kiss to her brow.

"Fitzwilliam," she replied. Her voice, like his heart, rose higher with every passing moment.

Darcy grinned.

"Shall we go as well?" He said softly. The room echoed and amplified his words.

"Yes," she spoke and sighed in one breath. He glanced at her face to ensure the nature of her sigh was one of happiness.

Her beaming smile left no doubt.

"Let's go home, Fitzwilliam," she proposed - eyes wide and bewitching.

"Yes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the first glimpses of a happy ending begin! The next few chapters will explore the couples finalizing their HEA. No more dramatic switches from this point on. They deserve some peace and quiet :) Thank you so much for your perseverance with this story!


	13. Chapter 13

She never left his embrace the entire time - from the moment she had collapsed in his arms at the meeting house to the moment he carried her into Brigham Park's shelter - he made sure to support her completely. Touching her thus, feeling the entirety of her reliance upon him, spurred him to greater heights of strength than he had ever thought he possessed. He never faltered, from court to carriage to courtyard. Her face, cradled against his chest, warmed his heart and hearth and home.

"Charles!" A sleepy, surprised Caroline exclaimed as he carried Jane towards the family wing.  _Someone_  must have roused his sister's curiosity. The vision that greeted her eyes now was clearly encouraging it even further.

"Yes, I know. It is wonderful - is it not?" Bingley smiled despite the load he lifted. "Perhaps we can speak more in the morning?"

Caroline, perhaps rousing in truth at last, nodded quickly. "Need you any assistance?"

"I shall suffice," he replied proudly. Jane's slight squirming in his arms boosted rather than accosted his confidence. "Thank you for the offer."

Shocked beyond words for the first time in years, Caroline merely nodded. She spoke again when he almost turned the corner. "If Jane - oh, dear Jane - if she needs me - please, let me know."

Bingley turned only slightly to face his sister, and nodded his thanks before he marched on.

Servants appeared left and right - some assisting, some merely gossiping. The helpful ones cleared his way as he marched towards the masters' chambers. He was thankful, for once, that Elizabeth had never brought much clothing, or strewn about the ones she owned. It was a good thing to carry his bride to a room of her own.

"Charles," Jane whispered faintly when he attempted to lay her upon the chaise. Her fragile hands clung to his clothes.

"You need rest, my dear." He pressed a kiss to her brow - the first since alighting from their carriage. The ones he'd bestowed in the carriage - he did not count. How could he when such joy and relief flooded his entire being? His mind had barely functioned, much less its logical parts.

"Stay," Jane whimpered, pale face pressed to his chest. He gathered her close.

"You want to stay - with me," he echoed weakly, more query than statement. A part of his mind - albeit a  _very_  small part - had felt apprehensive at arranging the switch without Jane's explicit approval. She was an angel who yielded to every other person's wants, of course - but did her temperament appoint her sister and grooms to make her decisions for her?

He prayed to God she would not blame him in the morning.

"Stay," she whispered again, eyes half-open. Her feeble grip on his lapels could be easily removed; it was simply he who did not wish to remove it.

"Yes," he answered - smiling yet worried. After only a moment's hesitation, he lifted her off the window-side chaise and towards her bed. It was a bed he had ordered to have prepared two long months before. It was a bed he had not seen since.

It was a bed he was more than happy to have her occupy tonight.

"Here, here," he urged gently as he slid her upon the covers. He kissed her brow, her cheek repeatedly - coaxing and tender. She, for her part, did not protest.

He hoped her lack of protestation was enough of a sign to warrant his subsequent actions.

Anxious to gain her solitary company, Bingley dismissed every servant - even those midway through a task. He waited patiently for the small crowd to slip away, and then he lay down upon the bed himself and drew his bride close.

Completion was the farthest thought from his mind tonight - it was not to be with her so frail. Comfort, however, was something he believed both of them duly needed - and he was ready to exchange just that.

"Jane," he whispered softly when she snuggled against his side. His raging heart pumped blood into tired limbs. Quietly, he kissed her again.

* * *

Her heart had burnt before.

When she and Jane had been pulled from their first grooms and thrust into the arms of their second ones, when her first chance encounter with Fitzwilliam by the lake had resulted on his lips on her fingers, when their meeting in the library had evolved into so much more - each time, her heart had roared into fast and furious flames.

Tonight was different. The burning and aching she felt within her - barely contained by her body - dwarfed every past occasion as the ocean dwarfed a pond. The overcoming sensation of relief was challenged only by the even stronger sensation of paradisiacal felicity. She was his!

And he was hers.

The tight hold Fitzwilliam had upon her hand, as they sat side by side in his carriage, communicated the ardency of his feelings even as her own flooded her every limb. Had it all been true? Had the crowded meeting house and the Constable's court and the resulting sentences happened as she hoped and believed they did? Oh what sorrow it would be to wake from such a joyous dream!

"Elizabeth," he whispered, for the third time on the road. She smiled up at him again.

He never said more than her name. It seemed as if the single word encapsulated his affections more than any subsequent words he could have imparted. She was glad they were of one mind.

"Fitzwilliam," she replied - every yearning, hope, and adoration in her voice. Did he know how much she loved him? Did he know how eternally grateful she would be for remainder of her life that he had chosen to speak when he did?

His free hand rose to her face, his thumb stroking her cheek. She longed to kiss him now - to act upon every desire flaming in her veins tonight. She wished to -

And why ever should she not?

She gazed into his eyes, feeling blessed beyond compare. It  _was_  true - was it not? He  _was_  her groom now, and she his bride. The law and society and her own blazing heart had unified in purpose at last. She had finally gained, with no small degree of heartache, the right to kiss and touch and love this man for as much as she wanted.

Had there ever been a couple more blessed?

She kissed him then, her own free hand quickly finding his stubbled jaw. He kissed her back immediately - having no reason, after all, to refrain. Their kiss, the first shared as a bride and groom to each other at last, led without stopping to another, and another, and another still.

Had they brought all their heartbreak upon themselves? If only they had chosen to share these caresses and sighs within their first two weeks together - would their tragic first trading of brides, and tonight's restoration, been entirely erased from existence?

She had little time or energy to ponder.

It was, after all, quite distracting to kiss a man as dashingly handsome and deliciously passionate as Fitzwilliam Darcy. Coherent thought fled her mind remarkably quickly with every passing kiss. When his hands decided to join in the exploration as well, she did not even bother thinking at all.

* * *

"Jane," the gentle whisper brushed across her skin like the most subtle of breezes. She felt chilled, every inch of exposed skin bitten with invisible frost. The warmth in her chest, deep and abiding, glowed like an ember beneath her skin.

She felt the kiss to her brow - and all its accompanying thrills.

"Charles," she whispered back, each sound barely slipping through her parched lips. "Char - "

"Yes, darling?" His response was immediate, as was his embrace.

His arms, despite the multiple layers between them, encased her in heated safety. His solid chest proved the best pillow upon which to rest her head. She, in her half-consciousness, leaned longingly against him.

"Be well, my dear, be well," he muttered above her. The touch of his skin magnified his every word, each syllable reverberating in his chest. She found herself loved, wanted, home.

The comforting sensation of her current cocoon soothed her senses more powerfully than Mama's strongest salts and balms. The reality of this moment - blurry and distant until now - began to take form as her misty mind began to clear. Fully dressed in bed, in Charles' arms, nonetheless - every realization grew as unreal as it was palpable. Did she visit the meeting house at all? Was the Constable a person in the flesh?

Memories and nightmares, hopes and fears, mingle into one colossal field of whirling emotions. The world swam when her eyes closed; the world spun when she opened them.

"Jane," Charles' whisper came again - its pacifying powers in full swing.

She rested against his body, torso scandalously aligned with his. When had she gained courage to act so brazenly?

Her drowsy mind had no ability left to ponder.

"Do you fault me, my dear?" The question, mumbled against her ear, came just before her sentience slipped away.

She sought to turn, but his arms confined her still.

"Should I have spoken and spared you your pain?" Her lack of response caused his words only to continue. "When Darcy spoke - oh, I wished to, Jane. Oh how I wished too! I was certain - I had convinced myself so wrongly that you  _wished_  to stay with Darcy. And why would you not? He is taller, older, wiser, and in every sense the man superior. I - oh how little I deserve you!"

The words impressed into her mind slowly, every other fragment blurred. Did he  _blame_  himself? Did Charles, her beloved Charles, consider himself the transgressor in this -

"Do you forgive me? Oh Jane, my Jane, if you suffer, I cannot bear it! Your kindness and compassion deserve far better than the actions I have dealt you. Oh how could you desire this life when I have proffered you nothing in exchange?"

Despite icy hands and freezing feet, Jane found her mind fanned into flames. How could Charles believe himself as having so little to -

"Will you forgive me for having used you so ill? I cannot bear - cannot suffer the thought of your departure. Would this fortnight be our last? Oh Jane, if I have but a day in your presence, an hour to be your husband, I shall be the happiest man upon the entire earth!"

His voice cracked, tears evident. Jane found her chest tightening speedily, air draining from her lungs at a frightening rate. She tried to turn once more, succeeding slightly more than she had before.

"And what if Darcy had not spoken," he persisted, every word a dagger to her stiffened chest, "would we find ourselves eternally apart - meeting only as brother and sister when our hearts spoke of more? Was I truly so foolish as to believe that such a life would be one which both of us would be able to bear? Jane, forgive me - forgive me my liberties, my false confidence, my pride. Forgive me for allowing my fears to rule what my heart clearly knew. Forgive me for - "

"Charles!" She breathed at last, turned sufficiently to lift the arc of her nose to his chin. His responsive lowered visage posed his lips ever-closer to hers. The whisper in her voice persisted. "Charles."

"Jane?" His eyes - blue, wide, yearning - bore into hers.

She smiled weakly, air barely in her lungs. "Charles."

"Yes? Yes, Jane - what - who - how can I - "

"Hush." Her nose nudged his lips in gentle motion. "Do not."

"Do not - do not what?" A wave of panic shifted through his features. "Do you not desire this? Jane, forgive me if I - "

"Charles." Her slender fingers clasp his arms before he could truly pull away. "Charles."

"Yes?" He hovered closely, yet not as close as before. "Jane, my dear, if you - "

"I forgive you," she said instead, smiling faintly still. "Please - stay."

His watery eyes were the last sight she remembered before drifting asleep.

* * *

Great and grave was the restraint required of the new Master and Mistress of Pemberley when their carriage drew at last to a halt. Fingers caught between layers of fabric returned unwillingly to the open air. Kisses and groans - ignored in the flimsy privacy of their rolling transport - had each to be tucked away until solitude was restored. The servants gazed openly at both their tousled hair. Thankfully, none complained.

A few did, small to blame them, express surprise - albeit  _pleasant_  surprise - at the identity of the current Mrs. Darcy. With no small measure of pride did Darcy introduce Elizabeth again to the servants who still fondly recalled her time in Pemberley. With a little less pride, he pursued a straight path towards the family wing. So help him God if the help could not divulge them of their meeting clothes within the upcoming hour.

He had never been able to vouch for his temper.

"Fitzwilliam, stop - slow!" The laughter interspersed with each of Elizabeth's words only served to spur his impatience further. "Fitzwilliam, I am about to fall!"

He slackened his steps at her warning, his hand still strongly gripping hers. "Are you alright?"

"Yes." Her laughter and smile brightened even the corridor. The snickering servants he could ignore. Her radiant beauty, he could not. "Yes, I am well - more than ever."

The weight of her words served only to lighten his heart.

"Elizabeth!" He pulled her close and pressed yet another kiss on her head. He watched her, heart sailing as high as the wispiest clouds. "Shall we?"

She nodded firmly, her certainty his pride - and he launched them yet again towards their chambers.

There was happiness and thrill; there was clarity and joy.

Never in his entire life in Pemberley had Darcy ever found this path to his rooms as welcoming as it did tonight. Every turn brought with it a swirling thrill. Every door seemed to open of its own accord.

He pulled Elizabeth close whenever he could, shrinking arm's length to a mere hair's breadth between them. They were acting quite scandalously, one may say - with hugs and caresses in full view of their servants.

He did not care at the meeting house.

He surely did not care now.

He kissed her on the lips, hands on her jaw, before they tumbled into their suite at last. The tentative restraint dissipated - any fear of her unwillingness vanished. She had had her chance as a guest politely touring the grounds.

Tonight, she was his - and he was not about to yield her to anything less than the night they both deserved.

"Elizabeth," he hissed when their lips met again, the doors slipping close behind them. Her willing response to every caress spoke of passion, hope, and eternity. Her feminine hands around his waist and his large ones on her neck tugged each other ever closer. All clothing proved superfluous, and he cursed whoever invented such heavy garments for men to begin with.

"Stenton!" he barked for his valet when he and Elizabeth parted for breath. She smiled knowingly, willingly. "Blasted night, let us - let me - "

He choked upon his tongue when the moment came. The hallowed wonder of what lay before them - no words could adequately express.

"Lizzy, let me - allow me to - "

"Of course." She smiled, panting too. "I shall see you soon?"

He nodded mutely, unable to find any phrase worthy of the hour.

"I love you, Lizzy." He kissed her before Stenton and Lilieth could make their way through the door and the lopsided furniture in its way.

"I love you - "

Their respective servants whisked them away, slightly too knowingly, when she was yet to finish.

For one long, torturous hour, Darcy endured the bath, the undressing, and the cladding of his nightshirt with stifled impatience. Stenton, thank God, knew his master well enough to keep his peace - and Darcy was left to his own dangerous thoughts.

He dared not close his eyes, lest he whisper Elizabeth's name to an empty room. He dared occasionally to picture where she was tonight - perhaps equally undressed in her own chambers.

The tightening in his groin was no accident.

It was a blessing to have sleeping clothes as loose as they were.

His curses for the inventor of the cravat were as keen tonight as his thanks to whoever had designated one's sleeping apparel. It was - convenient, most definitely so.

"Mrs. Darcy awaits, sir." Lilieth mumbled before leaving the stifling master suite.

Darcy nodded slightly, mind elsewhere.

She was not here in their sitting room. There was no reason, he supposed, for her to be. Patiently, he approached her door - hand already outstretched. His knock was quiet, careful. His calculated strength ensured no cause for shock or fear. Heaven forbid, after all, that he should have endured all suffering only to rue his chances himself.

She did not respond at first, and he waited - the patient bridegroom.

When he knocked again, he heard a sniffle, a sob.

The fire in his chest mingled with worry - and he opened the door to the image of a barely-clad Elizabeth, seated on the bed in tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, okay, I may have sorta given a misimpression that there will be zero angst from here. I just promise no more switches! Hang on there until the real HEA!
> 
> In other news, it's a double update day! Honestly, though, it's a double update day because I really, really need some extra love. Both FF and Amazon reviewers have been very discouraging recently, so I hope those who are reading Switched and Agent B won't be as harsh. If you find something wrong about the story, please do let me know. If you just want to be mean, please talk to the mirror instead. Authors are people and can only take so much! Your unkindness, added to the difficulties we face in our own lives, can be crushing. I hope everyone likes the updates!


	14. Chapter 14

 

"Elizabeth." His voice betrayed both conflicting emotions surging in his heart - every pang of surprise and sting of worry evident in his quivering tone. His wide steps made quick work of the space between them.

"Elizabeth," he whispered when he slid gently beside her on the bed. His hands took time before resting on her shoulders. Her sobs subsided slightly at his approach, though she sniffed still.

Was there to be no end to their trouble and angst?

For several long, quiet moments, he remained as he did - a harsh presence in the feminine room. He hoped she did not protest.

"My love," he lowered his voice when impatience threatened to take its hold. The grasp he had on her white-clad arms tightened slightly. He did not know what caused her grief, though he knew he would move mountain and sea if he had but the chance to cease her sorrow.

Elizabeth sniffed, laughed hollowly, then sniffed again. Was she happy or sad, in happiness or agony? Were the events of the night so incredible and rapid that they had broken even the strongest woman he knew?

He prayed in his heart that it was not the case.

"Elizabeth." He kissed her temple, equally anxious to relieve her pain and fearful of upsetting her further.

She, thank goodness, placed her hands upon his - and threaded their fingers into two tight, secure grips upon her shoulders.

He did not complain when she shifted herself to lie upon his chest. He let her be when the orientation of her body placed their combined weight awkwardly upon his lower back. He gladly let her wound her fingers around him - that he may do likewise to her.

"I love you," he said simply, before kissing her hair.

"I love you," she replied, muffled yet somehow clear.

The embrace they shared - intimate and tight - was of a far different nature than any they had shared before. The desperation of their stolen kisses outside the meeting house tonight, the determination to drown together when they'd stood before the Constable, the heated grazes of wandering hands in their carriage - all could not replace the simplicity of their hold upon each other at this very hour.

He did not know what ailed her. She did not speak of her pain.

Yet, all the same, they were both certain of their desire to share it all.

The crying stopped eventually, after his shirt had soaked so thoroughly he felt the teardrops on his skin. She pulled away slightly, just enough to see his face. His locked arms made sure that was as far as she withdrew.

"I'm sorry," said Elizabeth - spirited eyes heavy with guilt.

"No, do not be," he answered right away.

Her face, so close to his, tempted and teased him - tasking every part of his self-control. He shook his head slightly, unhelpfully attempting to dissipate the draw. "I - I do not wish to see you sad."

"You are not to blame."

"I am your  _husband_ ; of course I am."

Her eyes widened slightly. He quickly realized that he had no right to refer to himself so as yet.

"Elizabeth." His subsequent thought brought him no pleasure. Yet love, not pleasure, was his calling tonight. "Do you fear completion? I - I do not demand anything of you, and I beg your forgiveness if I have communicated any assumption on my part that we ought to - "

"Fitzwilliam." Her voice and face lifted slightly at last. "I am not - nervous."

The small assurance was much appreciated.

"I see." He tried to hide his smile - tried very hard indeed.

"Fitzwilliam," she called gently when he looked askance rather than at her. "Fitzilliwm, it is  _I_ perhaps who should apologize. What kind of woman would - "

"No!" His eyes flew quickly back to her bewitching ones. "I shall not have you apologizing when you have done  _nothing_  of blame."

She did not respond immediately, and he feared that he had rued his chances, after all. What sort of man was he to shout at a lady so? What sort of groom - or  _husband_ , as he preferred to be - addressed his bride so brashly on their completion night? He could not blame her if she -

"Fitzwilliam," her voice beckoned his thoughts to the present. Her smile illuminated the entire room. "I am not nervous - no."

He nodded - mutely, this time.

"It is of Jane and Mr. Bingley that I worry."

The name of his friend and rival on her lips nearly spurred him to loosen his grip. Darcy lowered his gaze, suddenly angry. Why was she - why would she - did she still -

"I fear our happiness is at the cost of theirs," Elizabeth finished, and Darcy struggled to clear his mind.

She was patient with him, as he had been with her, until he'd successfully controlled his unwarranted grief - and once again met her eye.

"Our happiness?" Darcy echoed, longing to see the affirmation that he needed.

"Yes." Her smile gave it freely. His heart relaxed once more. "I fear - I feel guilt that I can be married to the most wonderful man in the world - while my sister falls prey to our pursuits of joy."

"She will not," Darcy found himself replying. His courage rose when Elizabeth's confidence in him did. He even smiled. "I may have been negligent, seeing only your presence at both Brigham Park and the Constable's when two others stood beside us. I promise, however, that I have seen Bingley many times besotted without having  _ever_  come close to the warmth and regard with which he exhibits for your sister."

She listened intently, clearly seeking comfort in his words.

He swallowed, and then he smiled.

"We need not feel guilt for ascertaining our rights to happiness, Elizabeth. Your sister and Bingley, I am sure, feel much the same we do."

Her face softened gradually, as if with deliberate understanding. He waited, arms still wound tight around her body.

"I find it impossible," her reply surprised him. The teasing spark he had always loved seemed at last to begin its return. "It is simply impossible, sir - for any creature in the entire universe - to be as certain of her happiness as I."

His own eyes, this time, threatened to mist.

"Your confidence lends to mine." Her dazzling smile nearly blinded him. "And I refuse to mourn in the face of immaculate joy."

He felt at last the liberty to grin.

"But is it alright, sir," she said when he moved to kiss her, "not to spend tonight in my sister's room?"

* * *

"But is it alright, sir - not to spend tonight in my sister's room?"

She watched him startle despite her teasing tone, before his eyes began to roam around the room and locate the sparse possessions distributed all about with open contemplation. She knew then that he had not understood the source of her doubt - but had still comforted her, nonetheless.

"Fitzwilliam - "

"I apologize." His tone poured out heavy with grief and self-incrimination. "I did not remember that there was, of course, little time to gather one's items for what must have felt like an inevitable confirmation. It is my neglect that - "

"No," she hushed him, fingers on his lips. His eyes, wide open, gazed directly into hers. She could drink of him forever. "You are not to blame."

She wondered if the words, stated yet again, left an impression on him at last. Had her doubts expelled any ardor he might have felt before this moment? Had she - in her stupidity and hesitation - tossed her chance at a wonderful new start with him directly into the depths of impossibility?

"It is not your fault," she began again.

"I did not know," came his reply before she even concluded her statement.

She paused, unsure.

"I have not entered this room - not even walked near its door - for months. The last I was here was to request - a preparation - for - you." His words trailed of subtly, like the ebbing of a summer wave.

She, for her part, felt the burning start in her chest begin again.

"I am sorry." Her thumb soothed his lip.

"I am happy you asked," he answered.

She had asked nothing with her words, of course - but perhaps he had heard her with his heart, after all.

The smile on her face now was neither teasing nor frivolous.

But it was genuine - euphoric and warm.

"I speak every word in truth, Elizabeth." His lips moved in an almost funny motion when speaking under her hand - but the informality of it all only blossomed the love in her heart even further. "This room, this life, this heart - shall have no master but you."

She did not want to cry again - though it was nearly inevitable.

"Lizzy." His hand on her cheek highlighted each whisper. She leaned willingly into his touch. "May I - take you, us - somewhere your sister has never been?"

She's quite certain her eyes posed questions, but he seemed eager to proceed - and she nodded in acquiescence.

With a squeal, she found herself lifted high into the air, balanced between his strong arms. She, smiling, clung upon his neck lest she fall. He, laughing, pulled her tautly against his chest.

He crossed the insignificant sitting room with ease and speed - and nearly kicked open his door when they happened upon it. She both giggled and screamed when she slid two inches downwards, their clumsy combined pose barely weaving through the door frame without harming them both. He smiled when he placed her upon the floor and kissed her at last - every meeting of the lips an ardent surrender.

She closed her eyes happily, every nerve rejoicing. His large hands pressed her to him as if she occupied less space than a child. His passionate kisses lit blazing trails of fire on her lips, and neck, and chest.

It was not difficult to untie each loose knot and tug each corner of fabric until their clothes fell upon the floor. It was no trouble to twirl and gasp and kiss until their bodies tumbled upon his clean, expansive bed. It was easy - yet breathtaking - to explore every inch of each other's skin with lips and tongue and hands and teeth.

He did not wait long to enter her - nor she to welcome him. The pain of the morning, distant and dull, was quickly chased away by this moment's rush of ecstasy. Elizabeth almost laughed at the passing thought that the system was right to disallow revocation after such activities had taken place.

Such touches, sighs, and ardor - were for two souls to share alone.

They did not rush tonight, every moment savored and indulged to their hearts' content. Curiosity and awe mingled with every novel discovery. Devotion swelled with every new kiss they shared.

Elizabeth's last thought before drifting asleep was of indescribable happiness alone. Bliss - she found - was a word aptly applied.

* * *

The kiss of the dawn was something she had always accepted in sleep. Elizabeth had been born the morning lark, Lydia the night owl, and she the modest middle - as she often was in so many things. The early morning hours seldom had its romance with her.

Today, a gently-waking Jane happily found, the sun's kiss was merely the backdrop - to a kiss of an entirely different kind.

"Good morning." Charles - handsome and glad - hovered right above her.

"Good morning," she whispered back, heart and soul aglow.

She had felt his kisses before - in passion and pain, in secrecy and desperation. Today's were light and airy, tender and simply  _right_.

"Do you feel alright?" His breath caressed her nose, his hand her cheek.

"Yes." She smiled to her very toes.

She had roused twice in the night - once in chills, the other in a suffocating coughing fit. Both times, Charles' arms had eased her nightmares - and his patient ministrations her suffering. He attended to her patiently - with tender wipes of her perspiring forehead, gentlemanly fumbling with her buttons and hair, and a devoted, steady supply of water - until she fell back asleep.

Her fever broke soon after, she supposed - providing her with this much more glorious morning.

"You were ill," her groom said gently. The sunbeams enhanced his features, the breeze his words. He looked different in his shirtsleeves, with his hair disheveled and young.

"No longer." She smiled and kissed him.

He seemed to find her kisses pleasing, since he kissed her back so quickly. The stillness of the morning echoed the serenity in her heart. They kissed and smiled and touched and teased at utter leisure - cocooned in happiness and peace.

"Do you remember?" He asked when their third round of kisses took a particularly heated turn.

She blinked wordlessly, refocusing on his worried face. Her gown, unbuttoned, remained on her still.

"Remember what?"

"Last night." His eyes were trained intently on her face. His fingers tensed on her jaw.

"Yes, of course." She smiled. "Thank you - you were  _ever_  so attentive."

He began to smile - until he did not.

"Charles - "

"The - meeting." He looked down at nowhere in particular. She nudged his eyes back to hers. "Do you - you were weak. Did you know?"

"Of the restoration?" She asked, a lifetime in one word.

"Of the - yes, the restoration. Yes." He smiled now, the color returning to his face. "Your Aunt Gardiner and the Constable - the proposals and arrangement."

"Yes, Charles." Even with half his face obscured by the pillow, he was the only object of her smiles. "Thank you - for knowing my heart."

His smile grew gradually, the eventual cranking of a stubborn lever until it lifted completely. The grin, once there, stayed beautifully on his face.

She was married, at long last, to the man of her dearest hopes and dreams.

"Charles - "

"Jane - "

Kisses replaced words, hands replaced clothing. Delicate touches and soothing lips accompanied every item unraveled. Their union was heartfelt - gentle yet delightful. She was his, and he was hers.

Everything in the world was as it should be.

* * *

The grand staircase leading to Pemberley's entrance was every bit as Bingley remembered it to be. The familiar way with which his carriage drew to a close reminded him, quite poignantly, how often he had used to call upon this place. With Caroline at home, Pemberley had always promised refuge - a citadel uncorrupted by whining women. The past two months of wordless estrangement had been his longest separation with this estate to date since he'd first taken possession of Brigham Park himself.

It was funny, almost, that the sister he'd always tried to escape when requesting Darcy's company was  _in_  his carriage tonight - ushered to Pemberley's hallowed grounds by  _him_.

Jane's serene smile and tender clasping of his hand were enough to chase away any uncharitable thoughts he had almost harbored against his sister. Caroline had calmed when the second Meeting resulted in a Mrs.  _Jane_  Bingley rather than a Mrs. Elizabeth - and there had been an air of intangible gratefulness emanating from Caroline since then.

Perhaps it was for the best.

"How wonderfully kind for Mr. Darcy to invite us for dinner," Caroline cooed before their carriage stopped completely. "I dare say he's the nicest man in the world."

Bingley chuckled under his breath. A small shifting beside him made him think that Jane might had done so as well.

"It was not Darcy who invited us, I believe." Bingley smiled as the carriage door opened. "It was Mrs. Darcy whose name and writing appeared upon our invitation."

Caroline was not pleased, of course - though she proved civilized enough to only roll her eyes once.

Bingley was a man who had reveled and indulged and tasted of the wonders of true marriage for the past six nights. He was blessed - and there was little that could spoil his moods.

"Mr. Bingley, Mrs. Bingley, Miss Bingley," the footman announced, rather formally, when their party of three passed upon the threshold. Jane was dazzling tonight, so much so that he, upon seeing her, had almost decided to lock her up with him in his room for the rest of the evening rather than parade her before Pemberley's servants.

But she, as always, had been right to insist on their duty.

This was an olive branch they could not ignore.

This was the night to make amends that should have been discussed much longer before. This was the night to put all things where they truly ought to be.

"Jane!" Mrs. Darcy appeared before them - face bright and gown simple. She ran quickly towards them and pulled Jane into a large, warm hug. Jane, smiling, reciprocated - and the sisters' embrace moved him more than he had thought it would.

"Bingley." Darcy, tall and commanding, approached with an uncharacteristic smile. This grin was not the sarcastic smirk of his bachelorhood - nor the caustic sneers he had occasionally let slip at the meeting house. His smile tonight was honest - open and happy.

Bingley smiled himself when his hand met Darcy's in a strong, manly shake. The camaraderie they had always shared, lost in one unfortunate exchange, had seemed to return at last with its reversal. Their friendship had passed through the hottest of purifying kilns, and it had survived.

"Thank you for the invitation," said Bingley, everything sincere.

"Thank you for accepting." Darcy smiled back.

Caroline said something then - something about the room or the gowns or the food. Miss Darcy came along soon after with her own shy greetings and girlish curtsies. The details did not matter. The sisters, the decor, or the dishes could matter less.

He escorted Jane to dinner tonight, Darcy and  _his_  bride on his arm before them. The awkward stares and subtle glances were no more. Every hand was held affectionately, every whisper made in full view of all other hosts and guests. Compliments were given, as was proper. Queries were exchanged. Bows and all other forms of standard greetings were ascribed to as some point during the evening.

Miss Darcy mentioned more than once of how happy she was that his brother had finally taken a wife. Darcy corrected her gently on each occasion, his propriety disallowing such outbursts. Mrs. Darcy, on the other hand, seemed to only indulge her new sister with knowing glances of her own.

Even Caroline seemed determined to be agreeable - and only  _once_  complained aloud about Mrs. Darcy's gown. Jane intercepted, of course, to praise her sister's modest tastes. Bingley, in turn, praised his own wife.

His wife - could any words be sweeter?

No one faulted him or Jane for their acts of mutual adoration - not even the two soft kisses with which he bid her goodbye when the sexes parted after the meal. He thought, for one spare moment, that he saw Darcy doing likewise to his wife in the corner. His hosts were not prone to hypocrisy, he supposed.

The ladies' chatter dwindled when he and Darcy took themselves to his study, until the large oak door rendered the sounds entirely inaudible.

Darcy, with utter ease, poured each of them a glass of port before settling in his favorite chair.

Bingley took his seat himself, and the friends kept each other company - no word exchanged until the cackle of the fire echoed louder than their breathing.

"Thank you - for your invitation," Bingley repeated his earlier sentiments, with even deeper conviction now.

"Thank you for accepting," he replied again, smile in place, before taking a sip from his glass. "It is wise, is it not, to meet amongst ourselves before the Constable bears witness to our encounters once more?"

"Very wise - and wonderful." Bingley could no longer stay his sentiments. Contentment filled his chest and threatened to overflow right upon the crimson rug. His smile stretched widely over his own face. "You suggest well."

"My  _wife_ \- " Darcy's smile was bright " - suggested well. We are blessed men, Bingley. Heaven has its own way of righting it all - wouldn't you agree? I have never seen you happier."

Their glasses met in a cheerful toast.

"Most definitely." Bingley smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one short epilogue to go. I hope you liked this! I cannot bear to just give them one chapter of happiness after all the angst. They deserve at least two!


	15. Chapter 15

He felt pride of the highest degree when, a few shorts days after their dinner gathering, he aided his lovely Elizabeth as she descended the Darcy carriage. It was the same meeting house, the same location in every way. There were, however, no villagers today. There were no candles or flowers. The dim, romantic lights of a confirmation night had been replaced by the harsh noonday sun. They encountered no formal entrance into the grand hall. The side door was their means of entry today - a small passage for what must have felt like an entirely insignificant day to the groggy Constable.

But Darcy couldn't be happier.

"Are you ready?" He asked, close by Elizabeth's ear, as they approached their humble entryway.

"More than one could ever be." Her words shone as brightly as her smile. He smiled joyfully in return.

The dusty court was by no means presentable when they came upon it at last. The humdrum of multiple couples confirming their vows - a noise his mind so firmly associated with this location - was completely absent today. One could hear a cricket, if the Constable hadn't snored so loudly.

"Sir," Darcy addressed the man first, after an extensive clearing of his throat.

Elizabeth, dazzling in her simple elegance, clung happily to his side. Her arms around his waist left no question as to the state of her heart. His own swelling chest left no question of his response as well.

"Mr. and Mrs. Darcy!" The exclamation arrived with two happy faces emerging through the door - the faces attached to limbs just as entangled as Darcy's and Elizabeth's.

"Mr. and Mrs. Bingley," Darcy greeted, smile belying the formality of his words.

The sisters giggled at each other, neither releasing their holds on their respective husbands.

Husbands, yes - his conversation with Bingley had assured him enough of that significant nominal shift.

"Well, well," the Constable roused when one least expected - his hands still rubbing weary, dark eyes. All four individuals dutifully faced the man who held authority over their fates, however little he may seem as if he did. "A fortnight flies by, doesn't it?"

Darcy nodded mutely, as did the others.

"Have we each and every one come to a decision?" The morning light, it seemed, scared away  _some_  of the heavy man's confusion. His remembrance of the situation, at least, warranted praise. "Are we to maintain or revoke?"

They had not previously agreed upon any course of action - but both couples seemed to have chosen upon smiling in response.

"What? Nothing to say?" The Constable stretched himself with one long, lazy moan. "Such a waste of time now, isn't this? No one wishes to choose?"

A muted giggle escaped  _someone_ ; Darcy could not tell who.

"Unless, of course," the Constable mumbled on, "there has been reason not to choose? You have - oh, wait, you all - you have completed, have you not?"

The bulging creature leaned forward on his chair - nearly tumbling over the bannister. His sudden alertness was both amusing and terrifying.

"Such clinging and ogling and hugging - utterly - this is why - oh, to hell with it." He scoffed before dropping back on his august chair. "Shall we confirm those vows then?"

"Yes, please," was everyone's united reply.

* * *

"In the presence of God and man, we gather here tonight - well,  _today_  in joyful celebration," the Constable mumbled, minimally coherent. Jane was grateful, at least, that the man was awake.

"It is with hope and with gladness that we uplift these couples to His holy care - that He who saved us from the darkness of sin may preserve them with love and mercy for the duration of their earthly lives."

She could feel Charles pulling her closer. She gladly let him. The words were foreign - a hint of a memory from a dark, disturbing time.

"As we gather together to witness the confirmation of their happiness," the Constable spoke and yawned alternately, "let us hear from each individual their words of love and promise."

He gestured with his pudgy fingers, guiding each couple to stand facing each other. She removed her head from Charles' chest unwillingly, but obediently. They each clung tightly onto the other's hands.

"Mr. Darcy," the Constable called upon the other couple first, "shall you not pledge your love for your wife?"

"I shall," came her new brother's distant reply.

Jane smiled at her own husband while his friend swore his lifelong devotion to her sister. She did not listen too intently, only hearing a stray word here and then. Darcy spoke of ardor and of reward, of loyalty and union. Jane thought she heard him speak of courage as well, though she wondered why one would praise a woman thus.

The syntax was so complex, in truth, that she barely understood what he muttered to Elizabeth.

It did not matter, she supposed, what she thought - for dear, wise, lively Elizabeth seemed to understand enough.

"Fitzwilliam!" Elizabeth whispered loudly before embracing him. Jane wondered slightly if she would be permitted one moment to embrace her own man as well.

"Mrs. Darcy, shall you?" The Constable ordered, and Elizabeth's voice rang loud and clear - amplified by the sparsely-populated room.

"My dearest Fitzwilliam - oh how long and winding is the road that has taken us to stand here today!"

Jane smiled, fondly remembering how Elizabeth's frankness and wit had always been her identifying traits. Whenever Mama had cornered them with her incessant nagging, Jane would smile while Elizabeth retorted. The latter's action, of course, hadn't sat well with Mama.

It was a relief to know it seemed to sit well with Mr. Darcy.

"Mr. Bingley, shall you?" The Constable's attention had, at some point, been diverted to them - all while Jane had ignored her sister's vows.

She  _almost_  felt ashamed.

"Jane - my loveliest, radiant, kindliest Jane!" Charles kissed her hands. She longed to kiss him back elsewhere. "I - I cannot find words sufficient to describe my love for you. I promise - I promise with my entire being to love you with every breath until my last. I vow never to even glance at another - knowing that I hold the best in my arms. Your beauty and goodness render me the happiest man in the entire world!"

She barely noticed the clearing of throats from the two other men present. Her eyes focused on Charles alone.

"I confirm, with all my heart, that I shall be your loyal husband for as long as we both shall live." Charles finished his words with another kiss on her knuckles.

Jane felt her heart swelling well past her body's ability to contain it.

"Oh Charles!" She exclaimed before the Constable had chance to declare it her turn. "I am blessed - beyond all earthly measure - to be allowed into your life. Your goodness and amiability is beyond comprehension. You are the  _best_  man I have ever come to know. I love you. I promise - forever."

The Constable chuckled lightly, as did Elizabeth and her husband. Jane only noticed for so long before Charles' kisses made all other thoughts to take flight.

It was a blessing, in many ways, to have today's privacy.

It would not do to act so brazenly before a crowd.

The ones present today, at least - understood.

* * *

"Oh!"

He  _did_  love the way she yelped in surprise.

Heaven forgive him if his joy was founded on her unease.

"Charles, you tease!" She giggled in his arms, and he could not help burying his nose in her hair. Her waist felt particularly small whenever he embraced her from behind, and he lifted her with little effort.

"Charles! Caroline would hear!" She cried, smiling, when he pulled them into her bedroom - now fully decorated with her belongings - and landed them sideways on her bed. She laughed in her elegant, feminine,  _Jane_  sort of way. "Charles, you do love surprising me."

"Yes, I do." It was his turn to smile. He propped his head with his hand, his right elbow anchoring him on the feathery mattress. He kissed her gently on the lips. "I hope only to bring the good kind, however."

"Your every surprise is lovely, Charles." Her smile, golden-haired and pink-lipped, was mere inches from his face. He leaned closer. "Your every promise was delightful."

"Not as much as yours were," he answered sincerely. "To know you love me - that you love me forever - oh, Jane, I cannot find the words to say - "

"You do not have to," she assured. Her head fit perfectly in the crook of his arm. He held her close. The afternoon sun streamed through the curtains and kissed her hair. He kissed her hair too.

"I am blessed, Jane - beyond understanding."

" _I_ am blessed, Charles."

"I believe myself more blessed."

"But it is I who am." Her face, beaming up towards him, was disarming.

"No," he muttered, absent-minded, "I am."

He kissed her soundly, caring little if Caroline or the servants heard. His sister knew him to be in love. She would not disturb.

After months on end of tears and turmoil, he and Jane had encountered the wonder of today at last. They made promises today - confirmed their shared intent to share every day of this life together. Those were promises he planned on keeping with every fiber of his being.

He could think of no better way to celebrate.

"Charles!" She both gasped and giggled at her discovery of his stealthy unbuttoning.

"Jane." He kissed her lips, distracting her as he could.

* * *

"A woman of ardor, loyalty,  _and_  courage? Why, you make me sound  _impossible_!" Elizabeth laughed as she spun into the room. He followed quickly on her heels before shutting the door behind them.

This would not do.

This simply would not do.

"You put me on a pedestal, love, and I am dearly afraid I shall fall!" She turned to face him at the end of her latest spiral - and walked back to stand with him. "Fitzwilliam - "

"You deserved every praise I stated and more," he replied, making every effort to maintain an appearance of serenity. He smiled gently. "I do not lie, Elizabeth. You know the fact full well."

"I worry that you lie without knowing, Fitzwilliam - to  _yourself_." Her arms snaked around his waist. He welcomed her embrace and held her closely in turn. "I hope you do not discover the fact too soon, however. It would not do to lose my husband so soon after finding him!"

One side of his lips lifted of its own accord.

This would not do.

"I would like to think I was the one to have found you."

"The second time, yes." She smiled - radiant, magnificent. "But you said that it was fate the first time - did you not?"

"Yes." He kissed her nose, smile inevitable. "Fate and a heavy dose of your aunt's so-called mistake."

"You did not say so at the Constable's."

"I did not have to. You, at long last, were mine. I was not about to nitpick as to how such a miracle came to be." His voice turned heavy without trying.

This would not do.

He - a man who prided himself on decorum and prudence - was becoming a bumbling fool. What sort of man said such passionate words before other people? What sort of man referred to his wife as "the dearest earthly reward I could ever have believed possible - deposited by Providence into my humble arms" when the Constable - the  _actual_  bumbling fool, in many senses - watched on?

Love made him a fool, he realized.

And his lovely wife seemed bent upon reminiscing his every foolish moment.

"You did not find my words - overly affectionate?" He asked tentatively when she began to play with his cravat. Their eventful morning, he hoped, would not come close to the thrills he hoped to share with her this afternoon and evening.

There was good reason he asked Mrs. Reynolds to place those roses in his room.

"You are a man of passion," said Elizabeth, eyes starry. Her supple lips hovered by his chin. "I would not have expected any less."

"You  _expected_  my declarations?" It was his turn to wonder. His chuckle was deep, sure. "I had never thought myself to be one to wear his heart so openly upon his sleeve."

"But I like it there very much, nonetheless." She smiled brightly, gloriously - exhibiting every pint of the immaculate happiness to which her vows had referred. "I love you dearly, Fitzwilliam. I count myself blessed to hear you describe emotions equal to mine."

"That is preposterous," he stated. Her eyes widened more - until he smiled. "It is impossible, Elizabeth, for you to love me as I love you."

"You think I do not love you?" She sounded genuinely affronted.

"No!" He pressed her close before she could escape. "Your loyalty to our union - did I not mention how much I admire your goodness and unwavering affection? Elizabeth, if I had but one more day to live, I would spend every moment groveling at your feet in the attempt to convince you of your - "

"No!" It was her return to exclaim. Her hands crossed tautly behind his neck. Her face drew close until it almost pressed against his. "I intend to spend an entire lifetime with you, darling. You had  _better_  not die the very next day."

He smiled at her good humor. She did not try to hide her pride.

"I love you, Fitzwilliam."

"I love you, Elizabeth."

Kissing, it appeared, left little room for speaking.  _Ardent_  kissing, in particular, elicited sounds of an entirely different nature.

The roses in his room were unnecessary towards increasing her enthusiasm, Darcy found soon enough - though they proved rather useful in framing her radiance in a manner so as to heighten  _his_  passions to an almost unbearable state. The dusty sunset colors shrouded the room with serenity and nostalgia, though it was a nostalgia he did not need.

Fitzwilliam Darcy had seldom found himself sated by life so well. He had been content, by choice, plenty of times. He had chosen to be glad, even, upon certain occasions. To be so incandescently happy, so universally blessed with overwhelming felicity as he was today - was a feeling of an entirely new kind.

It was a feeling, he found, that he liked very much.

* * *

"Was it truly she?"

His mind, hazy from their latest exchange, barely heard her.

"Fitzwilliam?"

"Yes, my love?" He kissed her crown, her luscious hair spread generously over his bare chest. Their panting was interspersed among their words. Her curves - ample and naked - pressed intoxicatingly against his body. Twice in a day, he found, was almost not enough. He was lucky that Pemberley required little oversight to properly run. "Was it who?"

"You mentioned Aunt Gardiner?" Her voice began to squeak, and he wondered if he imagined the change in tone.

"I saw her - yes. She stood behind the bushes by the main door." His hand stroke her back in languid, wandering motions. "Perhaps she meant to congratulate us."

"Perhaps."

She fell silent for a few moments. He continued to hold her close.

He had caught but a glimpse of the matchmaker today and had quickly given her presence little thought.

The revelation, however, seemed to affect his wife much more profoundly.

"Do you think she was attempting to apologize?" She did not look at him, merely asked his chest.

"Perhaps."

He felt her nod against his skin. He kissed her forehead, unprompted.

"Do you believe her act deliberate?" It was his turn to ask a moment hence. The question hung openly in the still bedroom air.

"Perhaps."

There was very little they could do, he must admit. Whether the initial, so-called mistake was an act of nature or human choice - neither of them knew. There was little chance Mrs. Gardiner would ever admit to any willful intent on her part, even if such intent had existed.

She was foremost a matchmaker, and her clients' trust in the integrity of her pairings was not a sacrifice she could ever be called upon to make.

"We can help her," Darcy said, uncertain of his own conclusion.

"At our third meeting?" She, as always, understood him before he himself could.

"Yes." He smiled at the view of a striking Elizabeth as she propped upon his breast. "We shall have one - I believe?"

"Yes, to provide advice on future pairings."

"The very one."

The system was both wise and incredibly foolish, at times.

He kissed Elizabeth on the lips. "Would you ever wish to be a matchmaker?"

"Ha! I would think not." Her laughter rendered her more perfect - however impossible such an act may be. "One matchmaker in the family is quite enough, I would say."

"Yes, I suppose." His smile was easy, happy and content.

"Though if I  _ever_  were to be one - I would ensure that I pair individuals as they  _suit_ , not as they request."

"And disrespect your clients' propositions?"

"If they are foolish propositions - then yes. I'm fairly certain I know better."

"If they have you as their matchmaker, love, then they would be very blessed couples indeed."

* * *

Dinner, Elizabeth had come to discover throughout the course of her life, was as elaborate and as simple of a meal as one wished it to be. From ornate settings and menus to comforting three courses - one may choose to host such a meal with a sense of elegance or a sense of home.

With these dinner parties being as frequent as they were of late, she often gravitated towards the latter.

"Do you believe you - " She gasped excitedly at her sister when Jane's hand stroked her abdomen gently. "Oh Jane!"

"Hush, Elizabeth." Jane's skin was radiant - her smile beautiful yet serene. "I wish to be certain - before telling Charles."

"Yes, of course." Elizabeth smiled. A small pang of jealousy nearly took root in her heart - the subtle sensation of being left behind.

With their bedroom unions happening as often as they did, however, she was sure her time would come.

"You would make a wonderful mother, Jane dear." She grasped her sister's hands. The men lingered in the study, and this sitting room was entirely the ladies' court. At the piano behind them, Georgiana practiced a duet with Caroline. The younger girl's constant company, it seemed, was beginning to affect the older's for the better. It had been a month since Caroline's last insult - and another month more since Georgiana had sat through a meal without speaking.

Heaven had its ways to sharpen iron against iron.

"Did you ever think, Elizabeth, that we could be so happy?" Jane, ever sweet, seemed to brim particularly of sentiment tonight.

"I thought I was fairly certain, when we first embarked upon that journey to Derbyshire, that marriage would render us utterly miserable." Elizabeth laughed. Her eyes roamed the furnishings she had added to Lady Anne's original touches. "But now Derbyshire is home - who would have reckoned?"

"I think the boys did." Jane smiled.

"I doubt they truly understood." It was Elizabeth's turn to feel deep emotion. "And we  _were_  miserable for a time - weren't we? Those six weeks in the bleak wilderness - oh Jane, how could we ever forget?"

Mrs. Bingley's hand clasped Mrs. Darcy's gently. "We don't forget, Elizabeth. We let our happiness render it irrelevant."

* * *

"Fancy us, Darce - two married men nursing our port while the women laugh but a hallway away. We've aged quite quickly, one may say." Bingley leaned against the high back of his chair. "I'd considered us old before - two dour, lonely men meeting each week. I dare say we act even older now."

Darcy's smile, like his person, was deep and thoughtful. He sipped from his cup, a man of moderation. "The silence is appreciated, I suppose."

"Jane is quiet, yes - " Bingley mused, mind already with his wife. He looked down at his glass for a moment. "It is my sister I avoid, sometimes, I must admit."

Darcy laughed in a low, hearty chuckle. "Your life is a mirror to mine."

Bingley paused before smiling himself. He supposed their wives and sisters had  _always_  been rather different.

"Do you like marriage, Darce?"

"This form of it - yes." The master of Pemberley took his longest sip yet tonight. "I am glad we asked to be paired."

"Yes, of course."

"Whether we should have requested to be paired  _together_  - I sometimes reconsider."

"But then we wouldn't have met sisters, would we, man? We would not have been brothers. God forbid Caroline actually managed to convince a matchmaker to pair you with her."

"God forbid indeed. I doubt I could - "

"She's my  _sister_ ," Bingley reminded, realizing rather belatedly that he may have opened a can of worms. He smirked slightly. "I wouldn't trade it, Darce. I wouldn't trade the heartache for anything."

Darcy looked straight at him, almost as if he - young Charles Bingley - knew something the wise Darcy did not.

"I love Jane," Bingley stated the simple, constant truth. "It proves to me more that we ought to be together when even the fates could not part us."

Darcy narrowed his eyes, his usual expression of thought.

Bingley finished his glass.

"I love Elizabeth," concluded Darcy, his own glass empty now. The man, so austere before, smiled. "I shall have things no other way."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, there you have it - my most angsty story ever completed! I will never decide if Mrs. Gardiner did what she did by mistake or deliberation. It's unclear because I myself find it unclear. Maybe your conclusions will be more right than mine. It's always satisfactory to write incandescent happiness for our beloved couples. I hope you gain much from reading this story. Thank you, faithful readers, for sticking with me through the thick and thin. Your support is priceless to me.


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